Serious Piggyback
by katrinahopes
Summary: She wasn't his first choice as a survival partner, but Daryl soon realizes that he needs much more from her than her good aim or her foraging abilities. What good is it to stay alive if you forget how to live?
1. Chapter 1

_(This fic begins in the middle of "Still". You know the scene.)_

* * *

"So you **do** think there are still good people around!" Beth crowed triumphantly. She and Daryl had just sat down to what he jokingly called a "redneck feast", and he was working the lid off of a jelly jar.

Daryl glanced at her and nodded briefly in affirmation. Her mouth widened in a gleeful grin.

"So what changed your mind?"

Daryl risked another glance before mumbling. "You know."

"What?" Beth gazed with unabashed curiosity into Daryl's face, as if trying to read something there. "Come on, tell me. What changed your mind?"

With the warmth of those clear blue eyes burning through him, he was having trouble formulating a response. The moment stretched out longer than he intended. He was vaguely aware that his heartbeat was picking up speed. "_You_ did," he wanted to say, but he was paralyzed by the unfamiliar surge of emotion washing over him. He'd never been good with words, so he couldn't tell her that it was everything about her—her persistent joy somehow undimmed by the world's horror, her stubborn determination not just to stay alive, but to_ live_—that had pulled him back from the brink of darkness. Unable to voice his feelings, he shrugged, but for once, he didn't look away. His eyes met Beth's, willing her to read the thoughts written in them.

He was gratified to see sudden awareness bloom on her face as a pink stain spread across her cheeks. Gulping, she uttered a tiny, almost inaudible "Oh."

His heart was beating so hard now that he was sure she could hear it in the lengthening silence. The air between them seemed heavier somehow, and yet alive with unspoken words. Daryl's hand itched to reach up and brush the strands of Beth's messy hair back from her cheek. Would her skin feel as warm as it looked? He had almost gathered the courage to move when the sound of rattling tin cans from outside brought them both to their feet.

Thinking of the dog, Daryl grabbed the jar of pig's feet from the table. "I'm gonna give that mutt one more chance," he said, motioning to Beth that she should stay where she was. He was halfway to the front door when her suddenly strident voice brought him up short.

"Daryl, wait!"

He turned to see her standing in the entry to the kitchen with his crossbow in her hands.

"Take this, just in case it's _not_ the dog."

Her words snapped him out of his haze, and he mentally kicked himself. _Gettin' careless, Dixon. _Putting the jar down on the floor, he took the weapon from Beth and cocked it, then pushed her gently behind him while he approached the door on silent feet.

As he moved down the front hall, the familiar sound of the dead moaning and shuffling their feet carried faintly through the slats. Sliding quietly sideways into the parlor, Daryl took up a position at the window. Slowly parting the curtains a bare inch, he peered out into the purpling dusk. A small herd was gathered in the yard in front of the building. They had not yet sensed prey; they were just milling about in that aimless way they had, bumping into each other and lurching haphazardly against any obstacles in their path. Daryl had just about decided to hunker down quietly and wait for them to move along when he noticed something that made his stomach drop and adrenaline surge sickeningly into his veins.

Parked off in the shadows to the side of the small fenced yard, at an angle that would be unseen to anyone looking out the front door, was a black sedan. Daryl didn't remember seeing it on their way in. As he peered steadily at it, a faint plume of exhaust curled up from the tailpipe. Someone was inside.

Moving as quickly as he dared, he retraced his steps to the kitchen. Beth stared up at him, questions in her eyes.

"We might be in trouble, girl."

Daryl knew better by now than to expect histrionics from Beth, and she didn't disappoint him this time, either. Rising smoothly to her feet, she turned and rummaged swiftly through a kitchen drawer, coming up with a large chopping blade and a smaller paring knife. She bent to tuck the small one into her sock, against her ankle, and stood up, holding the wickedly sharp chef's knife out in front of her.

Despite the possible danger, Daryl felt a swell of pride rise up in his chest when he saw the determination on her face. Quickly, he explained what they were up against: walkers on one hand and strangers on the other. "We don't know which kind they are, Beth. You should hide." He saw the objection rise up in her eyes before it formed on her lips, and spoke to cut her off. "Let me feel 'em out first. I know you can take care of yourself, but…" he swallowed and looked at the ground. "I'd just feel better. Please."

It was the "please" that did it. It was so out of character coming from the brusquely diffident Daryl that before she knew it, she'd allowed him to push her gently into a coat closet and close the door almost all the way. A mere crack remained through which she could peer out at the back door and the viewing room where Daryl waited in a crouch, his crossbow trained on the exit.

It seemed like an eternity passed frozen in silence, but it was really only about five minutes before they heard the clomp of boots mounting inexorably up the steps to the back porch. _Three men, maybe four,_ Daryl guessed from the sound. He readied himself for whatever was about to burst through the door.

But the attack he was expecting didn't come. Instead, there was a light knock. When Daryl didn't answer, a friendly-sounding voice called quietly through the door. "We'd like to come in and talk. We don't want any trouble."

Daryl wasn't sure what to do. His mind was filled with one thought. He must protect Beth. But what was the best way to do that? He was armed. Why not hear the visitors out and see why they had taken the risk of approaching? If he denied them entrance, would it come to violence? Not for the first time, he wished for Rick and the rest of the group. Not only would Rick have known what to do, but Daryl could see now how much stronger and less vulnerable they were all together. Hadn't they proved that by pulling each other's bacon out of the fire time and again?

Daryl sighed. As his daddy used to say, wishes were for fools. He and Beth were alone here, and he needed to make a decision. He aimed a gravelly whisper at the closet where Beth was hiding. "Stay hidden. I'm gonna see what they want." Beth stirred uncomfortably. She didn't like this, but she would obey. She stepped back a little deeper into the shadows, making sure that she could still see Daryl's profile through the opening.

Raising the volume of his voice to be heard through the door, Daryl called out, "Come on in, then."

A large blond man was first into the hallway, followed quickly by his two companions, one wiry and balding, the other dark and smirking. And they were all wearing police uniforms. For a moment, Daryl's mind stuttered, his jaw clenching as he flashed back through memories of grubby cells at county lock up and stop-and-frisks on nighttime roads. Following Merle around had guaranteed a certain amount of contact with the boys in blue, and Daryl had to remind himself that there were no real cops anymore. The turn had made them all into the same thing: survivors. At least until they stopped surviving.

The dark-haired man had a bandana tied around the palm of one hand, and Daryl knew instantly that he was the most menacing of the three, despite being smaller than the blond giant by several orders of magnitude. While his friends gazed at Daryl, Bandana's small, dark eyes were shifting all around the hallway and the into the connecting rooms, as if looking for something.

Daryl kept his crossbow trained on the visitors as they entered. "What can I do for y'all?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level.

The big one spoke up. "We were actually thinkin' we could help you." His mouth spread into a grin that somehow never reached his eyes. "See, we've got a pretty good setup—food enough, medical care, if you need it."

"I don't," Daryl interjected.

Blondie went on as if he hadn't spoken. "What we need is people." He flashed his grin again. It looked strangely feral. "We were hoping y'all would want to come back with us."

A chill gripped Daryl, a premonition of danger. "Ain't no 'y'all'. It's just me," he said tersely.

Bandana leered at him. "Now we all know that isn't true." He dropped his hand casually to rest on the butt of the handgun he wore slung low on the belt around his waist.

Daryl recognized the implied threat. He swung his bow around to aim at the dark-haired man, but before he could loose a bolt, Baldy brought his police nightstick swinging through the air to crash down hard on Daryl's left wrist. Pain rocketed through him and the crossbow went clattering to the ground, where it was kicked away by the thin, bald man. Immediately, he and Bandana launched themselves at Daryl. Daryl managed to land a fist across Bandana's cheekbone, throwing him off balance, but when the large blond man wrapped a meaty hand around Daryl's injured arm and squeezed, the resulting flare of agony broke his concentration, and before he knew it, he'd been forced to his knees, Baldy and Blondie on either side of him. Bandana stood before him, glaring at him with a look that could have torched Atlanta.

"I was afraid it would go like this," sighed Blondie in his ear.

Daryl was stoic, silently willing Beth to stay quiet in her closet hideaway. He knew her, and the possibility that she would make some misguided effort to come to his aid caused cold fear to wash over him.

"Where is she?" asked the large man. He had the kind of voice that was more disquieting when it was calm.

Bandana kicked over a chair. Impatience colored his face. "Why are we messing with this one, anyway?" he growled. "We know that yeller-haired girl is here somewhere. Let's just flush her out." He leered into Daryl's face. "Ain't no use lying to us. We already saw her last night when the two of you walked through town. Ain't that many women left, you know. And that gal looks just as fresh and pink as a peach on the tree." He laughed at their captive's suddenly renewed struggles. "What? Were you plannin' on keepin' that pretty little songbird all to yourself?"

Daryl clenched his jaw. Through all the long months since the turn, he'd never felt as helpless as he did at that moment.

"You know," Bandana said conversationally, a wicked gleam in his eye, "if you help us draw her out, we could still share her with you. I'm sure there's plenty to go around."

White hot rage filled Daryl then, and despite the pain in his wrist, he strained against his captors and nearly broke loose. Bandana belted him across the face, leaving a trickle of blood oozing from a split in his lip.

Daryl spat. _Gonna take more than a slap to put me down_, he thought savagely, remembering worse beatings he'd taken as a kid. The blow to his head had actually cleared it a little, and he pushed aside his anger and his gut-wrenching fear for Beth and forced himself to watch for his moment.

"Hold 'im," Bandana commanded, "I'll find the girl." He began a systematic search of the place, opening all the caskets and twitching aside the curtains to look behind them. As he got closer and closer to Beth's hiding place, Daryl steeled himself for one last, desperate act. He could feel that the hold the other two men had on his arms had slackened somewhat as they became engrossed in watching their friend search. If he could just manage to reach the blade on his belt, he could—

A sudden howl of pain split the air, and Daryl looked up in time to see Bandana stumble backwards away from the closet, Beth's dagger protruding from the side of his neck. His second scream was drowned out in a gurgle as blood welled up out of his open mouth. He went down to his knees, and that was when Beth flew into the hall like an avenging angel, bringing her knee up hard under his chin with a resounding crack. He dropped to the floor, twitched once, and was still.

When the two men holding him turned their attention to their mortally wounded leader, Daryl took advantage of the distraction. Dropping onto his back, he kicked out fiercely and swept the legs from under the blond giant, whose bulk crashed against a small table and splintered it beneath him as he fell. Grabbing the hunting knife at his waist, Daryl swiped at Baldy and managed to catch him at the back of the ankle, slicing his Achilles tendon neatly in two. His high pitched squeal joined the general cacophony as he folded to the ground in agony. On the front porch, the dead grew agitated, their moans louder and more insistent. Boards creaked as they began to cluster there.

Regaining his feet, Daryl spun in a circle, trying to locate Beth.

She was there, several feet down the passageway, trying to sidle out of range of the violent confrontation. As she moved past him, Blondie's hand snaked out and grasped her ankle, causing her to cry out. His eyes swiveled up to meet Daryl's, contempt plainly unmasked in his expression.

Daryl's boot caught him in his left temple, snapping his head back and rendering him instantly unconscious. Beth jerked her ankle out if his now slack hold with a shudder.

Stumbling over to her, Daryl swept Beth into his arms and started checking her for injuries. "You okay?" he panted, grasping her face in his hands and giving her a hard look.

She didn't get a chance to answer. Instead, a quavery voice commanded, "Turn around." Daryl obeyed, and found himself looking into the barrel of a police issued service pistol. The lanky bald man had managed to get to his feet, but he was limping badly, and blood was pooling beneath the streaming wound on his ankle. Pain contorted his face, and a growing anger lit his eyes. "This was supposed to be easy," he spat, motioning to Beth with the gun. "She's coming with me. Now."

Ignoring the gun, Daryl lunged for the man, landing a right hook across his jaw and causing him to drop the firearm. Disarmed, Baldy scrambled backward in alarm until he was pressed against the boarded up front door. As soon as he touched it, a scabbed and pale hand shot through the gap between the pieces of wood and grasped him by the throat. His eyes bulged wildly in fear. Daryl took a step toward him, the impulse to rescue the living still fixed in him, despite the battle he'd just fought for survival. But the dead got there first. The weight of the mob pushing from outside crumbled the feeble makeshift barrier inward, and Baldy went down screaming.

Daryl didn't stop to watch. Holding his injured wrist close to his body, he slung his bow across his back, grabbed Beth's hand, and ran out through the back door, letting it slam behind them in an attempt to slow down the herd.

There were a few wanderers who had broken off from the group and found their way to the back of the house, but Daryl dispatched them with fluid grace while Beth stumbled along behind him, her face an even paler shade than usual. Fortunately, the horde was occupied with their kills, so Beth and Daryl were able to skirt around the edges of the yard, hidden by the shadows beneath the pines.

"Finally, some luck," Daryl grunted. "Look at that, girl." The car that the uniformed attackers had arrived in was still running. Daryl assumed they had been planning a quick getaway. Well, now the getaway, and the car, would be theirs. He turned to see Beth's reaction.

The color had drained out of her face, and as he watched, she started to wobble on legs suddenly gone soft. Daryl recognized the signs; she was about to faint. Maybe she was wounded. He snaked his hand around her waist for support and, after checking to make sure the car was empty, eased her into the passenger side. Concern for her tensed his jaw, but he slid behind the wheel and focused on operating the vehicle with one good arm. The one that had taken the blow with the club was starting to throb, and he hoped it wasn't fractured.

Shifting into drive, he pulled away from the frenzied crush of walkers, leaving their three attackers to what he felt was the fate they deserved. He shuddered again at the thought of how vulnerable they'd been, how close to disaster.

The car slid through the warm Georgia twilight with only the low growl of the engine to mark its passing. The few solitary walkers they encountered barely had time to turn toward the sound before they disappeared in the rearview mirror. Daryl's immediate concern was to find a new place to shelter while he checked out the extent of Beth's injuries. He didn't see any blood, but one glance at her pale, silent form in the passenger seat told him all was not right.

After about thirty minutes, they came around a curve in the blacktop, crested a rise, and looked down to see an enormous herd filling the swale below them. Daryl reacted quickly, turning the car around and backtracking to an overgrown private road they had passed several hundred yards back. It was little more than a dirt track, nearly obscured by encroaching honeysuckle and wild buckeye. He'd only noticed it because of a rough wooden sign nailed to a flanking tree that said "The Bowmans" in faded yellow paint. His dad had nailed up a sign just like that to mark the road that led to their ramshackle house in Jasper County. Daryl and Merle had taken a beating one day when he caught them shooting at it with a BB gun.

Daryl carefully angled the car between the trees and onto the dirt packed drive. The tangled vines sprang back into place behind them, and he marveled at how quickly nature moved to reclaim her territory when man turned his back. Putting the car in park, he hopped out and, with a little leverage, worked the weathered sign off of the tree. When the last rusty nail gave way, he almost fell on his butt, but he recovered his footing in the end and made his way back to the car, tossing the sign casually into the brush off the side of the road. If they were lucky, anyone who came looking for the men they'd left back at the funeral home would miss seeing this turnoff altogether.

He looked over at Beth as he got back in the car and was relieved to see that a little of the color was coming back into her face. She was looking back at him with wide, haunted eyes. "I've never… killed anyone before," she confessed in a whisper. "Anyone living, I mean."

So that was it. Slowly, almost tenderly, Daryl reached out to still her shaking hand with his. His voice dropped to a rough murmur, as if she was a small animal he was trying not to scare away. "Beth, they were gonna hurt you. Bad."

"I know," she admitted, blowing out a trembling breath. "I heard." She dropped her gaze to where his calloused fingers were pressing hers and noticed that his knuckles were bleeding.

Daryl said her name again. "Beth." She looked up at him.

"What you did saved my life." His eyes held hers, and as she took in his words, he could see the something change in them. Whatever she saw as she looked at him, it seemed to strengthen her somehow.

"Thanks," she said simply.

After a moment, Daryl put the car in drive and they continued on, deeper into the pines, searching for a new place to rest, if only for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

Beth surfaced slowly from the deep ocean of sleep, stretching her limbs and enjoying the cocooning warmth of the floral quilt still tucked in around her. Rolling over, she squeezed her eyes shut against the midmorning light streaming into the room through the filmy white curtains.

_Midmorning!_ She shot upright, swinging her feet to the floor and pushing them into her shoes. _Where is he?_ she thought. _He was supposed to wake me for my watch hours ago!_

A wave of dread washed through her, clearing out the last of the cobwebs. How had she slept so long? Despite her fear for Daryl, she noted that she felt more rested and alert than she had since—well, since the day long months ago when the first walker had crossed over the creek onto her family's farm. She chided herself for letting down her guard so completely. Sleeping in was part of the old life. She blamed the exhaustion.

Last night's long journey down that twisted and potholed dirt road had seemed to last years, at least. Daryl had insisted on running without the headlights, just in case. They navigated the turns and dips of the road with only the pale moonlight sifting down through the pines to guide their way. Several times they had to stop and clear fallen logs and encroaching branches from their path. Beth kept watch on the surrounding woods while Daryl did the heavy lifting, taking care not to put too much pressure on his bruised wrist. He was pretty sure now that there was no permanent damage; just a deep soreness that would probably ease within a few days. The second time they were forced to stop, as Daryl strained under the weight of a rotted out birch, a scrawny female walker dressed in the shreds of a diaphanous nightgown had loomed out of the woods like a ghost from a children's story. She didn't even make a sound; it was just luck that Beth was looking in that direction when she emerged. Too tired for fear, Beth stepped neatly to the side when the walker lurched toward her, turning to dispatch the creature with a coolly efficient stab to the temple. The woman crumpled almost softly to the ground, and Beth found herself for the first time in a long time wondering who she had been when she was alive.

Every little while they had passed another drive or side road, but Daryl seemed determined to put as much distance as possible between them and whatever pursuit might come in search of the dead men back at the funeral home. The grim set of his jaw and the forbidding look on his face told Beth that he was still dwelling on the words of their attackers. She shivered at the thought of what would have happened if those men had succeeded in taking her. Gratefully, she reached out and laid a tentative hand on Daryl's shoulder, just needing the reassurance of contact. The tension in his face eased slightly at her touch, and when Beth pointed out another open side road that dipped to the right and curved away into the woods, he turned into it. Two miles later, a tall fence appeared along the right side of the road. They found the gate—closed—a hundred yards down, and Daryl jimmied open the rusty catch to let Beth pull the car through, and then closed it behind them. The short wooded drive opened into a large clearing, and that was where they found the house.

It was two stories and either white or pale yellow; it was hard to tell in the darkness. All the windows were dark, and, apart from the song of the crickets, silence reigned.

They parked the car and approached like two shadows, alert and quiet as they made a perimeter check of the entire structure. All the windows were still intact, an increasingly rare find. When Daryl turned the knob on the back door, it opened silently into a disused kitchen. The air was stale inside the house, and in the moonlight, Beth could see a fine layer of dust over the table and floors. Nobody had been here in a while. Still, they had to clear all the rooms. Perhaps the people who had lived here had died and turned here, too.

In the end, it didn't take very long. Daryl had hollered a hello, then made a racket slamming the kitchen cupboards to try to draw out the dead, but nothing stirred in the stillness that followed. Together they moved through the first floor—the kitchen, a living room furnished with secondhand sofas and a rag rug, a bathroom—now useless of course—and a small study. One whole wall in the study was full of bookshelves, and there was a worn wooden desk facing the room's one large window. Beth was reminded of her father's study back at the farm, a homely room where he would spread out his Bible and his reference books as he studied the Scriptures.

Upstairs, they discovered another bathroom and three bedrooms, all with doors wide open. As unlikely as it seemed, the house was empty.

"I'll take first watch," Daryl volunteered, pushing her gently toward one of the bedrooms. She knew he was as tired as she was, but before she could object, she caught sight of the full sized bed in the largest bedroom, piled high with pillows and blankets, and felt a wave of exhaustion sweep away her altruistic urges. He saw the surrender in her face and grinned. "I'm gonna go down and watch from the front room."

She had shaken the dust from the quilted bedspread and slipped beneath the sheets, falling instantly and dreamlessly asleep.

Daryl should have traded places with her somewhere in the wee hours.

Fully awake now and alert for signs of danger, she carefully opened the door of the bedroom and listened hard. When no sounds reached her, she made her way downstairs, her knife hand before her as she balanced lightly on the balls of her feet the way Daryl had taught her to avoid giving away her position with a noisy footfall.

She slowed as she reached the last few steps, and was surprised to hear what sounded like muttered cursing. Relieved, she recognized Daryl's voice and rounded the corner into the sun-filled kitchen.

There he was, crouched on the floor over an old one-burner propane backpacking stove, attempting to light the burner. He was concentrating so hard on what he was doing that he didn't seem to notice her.

"Ain't this a sight?" she teased. At the sound of her voice, he jerked and tipped backwards over his heels, landing with an undignified grunt on his butt.

Beth hid her smile of amusement and offered her hand to help him up. He gave her a wry look and got to his feet without assistance. "Some lookout I am, huh?" He nudged the tiny stove with his boot. "Was tryin' to get this goin' so I could surprise you. Been a while since we had a hot breakfast." He didn't meet her eyes, but her heart squeezed a little at the hint of vulnerability in his words.

"Is that why you didn't wake me up for my watch?" she asked.

He nodded once. "You needed the sleep," he said shortly. "And I found this contraption tucked up in that corner there, so I've been tryin' to figure it out."

She was touched. She put a hand on his arm and waited until he raised his eyes to hers. "Thank you," she said simply. His mouth twitched up at the corners in an almost smile, and he knelt back down to reexamine the stove.

Beth crouched down beside him to take a look. "Did you prime it?" she asked. Daryl looked at her blankly. "Here, let me take a look."

She picked up the small stove and shook it. A sloshing sound assured her that there was still fuel inside. Grasping the handle, she gave it a few quick pumps, then released a tiny bit of the pressurized fuel into the priming cup. Lighting it with one of the matches Daryl had been using, she waited a few moments, then slowly opened the fuel line, causing a circle of blue flame to spring up under the stove's one burner.

Daryl looked agape at her. "How'd you know how to do that?" he asked.

She smiled a little sadly. "My dad used to take us camping a lot. We each had to carry our own gear and learn to use it." She looked at Daryl curiously. "I thought you'd have known, too, all that time you've spent in the woods."

He shrugged. "Didn't have anything fancy. I always did my cooking with a stick over the fire. It was just me, most of the time, so I kept it simple."

Beth almost opened her mouth to comment, but stopped herself. Daryl spoke without an ounce of self-pity, and he wouldn't want hers. Instead she asked, "And what were you planning on cooking, Mr. Dixon, once you got this stove going?"

Daryl's face lit up as he reached in his bag and produced with a flourish two cans of Spam. "I found these in one of the cupboards. Breakfast of champions."

Beth had never tasted Spam—before or after the turn. She examined the cans dubiously as Daryl balanced a frying pan, also presumably pillaged from the kitchen, on top of the stove burner. He made short work of removing the meat from the cans and soon had several fat slices sizzling in the skillet. The aroma quickly banished any misgivings Beth had about Spam. It smelled heavenly.

Searching through several kitchen drawers, she came up with a couple of stainless steel forks, and they sat cross-legged around the small stove, eating the juicy, crispy slabs of meat right out of the pan. It was hot, and Beth tried to slow down to avoid burning her tongue, but it had been too long since yesterday's lunch. Within two minutes, it was all gone. Beth had a temporary urge to pick up the pan and lick it clean. Daryl snickered as if he could read her mind. "Guess you like it, then."

She grinned sheepishly. "Guess so." Standing up, she tossed the forks into the frying pan and headed for the back door. "Since you cooked, I'll do the dishes."

Daryl leapt swiftly to his feet and stopped her with a hand on her arm. "We ain't checked the whole property yet. Why don't you wait on those while we see what's what?"

It was a good suggestion, a careful one, and she should have thought of it herself. Something about sleeping in a real bed and the quiet peacefulness of the old farmhouse had dulled the edge of her usual vigilance. She knew that was dangerous. This was no longer a world where you could let your guard down.

With Daryl and his crossbow in the lead, they paced their way around the perimeter of the property, following the line of the wooden fence that encircled it, using the cover of the trees and outbuildings for stealth where they could. The fence was well-made, about five feet high and constructed of thick 2x8 pieces of lumber nailed horizontally to sturdy fence posts placed every few feet along the length of the fence.

The half of the property that fronted the road was deeply wooded. At the gate where they had entered, Daryl checked to make sure the sliding bolt was still closed. It would hold off a small crowd of walkers, but anyone with a working brain could still operate the mechanism and come through. Still, the house was invisible from the road, which was good. The back half of the property opened up to reveal the house, a faded blue barn, and two outbuildings.

They checked out the smallest one first. It contained a collection of tools: shovels, rakes, a post hole digger, saws of various sizes, a lawn mower, and two machetes hung from pegs on the wall. The opposite wall held a small but well-stocked tool bench. A search of the drawers revealed the predictable assortment of screwdrivers, hammers, nails, and various pieces of hardware. An LED lantern, the kind that could be recharged kinetically, with a crank charger on the side of the case. Beth raked away some of the cobwebs with her hand before taking down first one, then the other of the machetes. Stepping out of the shed, she took a few practice swings with each of them before selecting one and tucking it carefully under her belt. She felt better. She had escaped from the funeral home with just one blade. Now that she had something with a little more heft, her steps grew more confident.

The second small building was just a few steps from the back door of the house and partially underground. Half a concrete block steps led down to the door, which was locked. Daryl lifted his boot, preparing to aim a kick at the knob, but Beth stopped him with a quick, "Wait!" Without explanation, she flew back to the tool shed and rifled through the drawers of the tool bench. In the third one, she found what she was looking for—two loose keys she had remembered seeing among the jumbled mass of nuts and bolts. She ran back and handed them to Daryl, whose skeptical face turned surprised when the first key turned easily in the lock.

"Knew I kept ya around for somethin'," he joked. Beth elbowed him playfully. A tiny smile tugged at his lips before he resumed his defensive posture and pushed the door inward. Cool, dry air emanated from the opening. After pausing for a moment, Daryl swung the door wider. Beth held her knife hand loosely out in front of her and stepped into the darkness.

It was hard to see anything in the gloom, but they didn't hear anything, either, which she supposed was a good sign. Daryl stood so close to her that even though they weren't touching, she could feel his body heat on her back through her thin shirt. Her involuntary shiver had nothing to do with the cool of the cellar.

Slowly their eyes adjusted to the dark, and shapes appeared in the faint light filtering into the cavelike building from outside. "Daryl," Beth breathed, "look at all of it!"

The walls were covered with shelves, and stacked upon the shelves were row upon row of neatly labeled containers. She strained her eyes to make out the labels: "Flour", "Dried Fruit", "Rice", "Powdered Eggs", "Beef Soup Mix", and on and on. "I know what this is," Beth continued excitedly. "Long term food storage!" She ran her fingers wonderingly over one of the white plastic buckets. "It's all sealed up so it will keep for a long time. It should still be good."

"How do you know?" Daryl asked, keeping an eye on the door.

"My friend Jackie was Mormon," she explained, "and they had a big room in their basement looked just like this. We got in trouble once for breaking into a bucket full of dried apples, lookin' for a snack." She chuckled at the memory.

Daryl took in the size of the room and guessed, "There's probably enough stuff here to keep us goin' for months. It's hard to believe. Somebody musta seen it all coming down and prepared for it." Beth stepped out into the sunlight. Daryl glanced at the shelves one more time before following her, turning to relock the door as he left.

"Question is," he continued, "where'd they go?"

They found the answer in the barn.


	3. Chapter 3

For Beth, walking into the dim recesses of the barn was like stepping backward into her childhood. Thin shafts of sunlight filtered through the shrunken boards here and there with tiny motes of dust floating in them, stirred up by Daryl and Beth's passage through the still air. The floor was hard dirt, packed down by years of boots and tires and hooves. In the corner near the door was a long watering trough, fed by a pump that she knew led down to a well far beneath the ground. She hoped it hadn't run dry. The sweet barn smell of old hay and animal dung, of engine oil and sawdust rose up to meet her, and she was reminded of countless afternoons in her family's barn, watching her dad build furniture and fix tractors. To her child's mind, he had seemed powerful and all-knowing, capable of anything and everything. She longed to have those innocent afternoons back, to somehow unmake the hell that had overtaken them all.

But underneath the smell of the barn was another smell. A familiar one. Was there anywhere in this new world untouched by the odor of decaying flesh? Almost without conscious thought, she slipped her small hand into Daryl's large, calloused one, drawing comfort from the way his fingers tightened around hers.

They found the family in the southeast corner, in a large paddock that looked like it may have once held livestock. There were three mounds of dirt, graves that had not yet settled with time. At the head of each was a single two-by-four stake sticking up from the ground, a name carved roughly into it. ELLEN. TABITHA. JACOB. There was a fourth grave, too, about three feet deep and still open, the displaced earth piled haphazardly beside it. The corpse inside it was sitting up but had tilted drunkenly to the side, as if sleeping off the effects of a hard night. The gun in his lap and the hole in his head told the story. Here was the digger of graves. Saving his own till last. A moldering piece of paper was safety pinned to his chest, a few drops of old blood like ink spots splashed across it. Two words, scrawled harshly in black marker, comprised the man's eulogy for himself: MY FAULT.

Transfixed by the scene, it took a moment for Daryl to notice that Beth's breathing had changed. Her hand trembled in his. He glanced at her to see twin rivers of tears making silent tracks through the dirt on her cheeks as she stared at the man in the grave. He shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do. Why was she crying? They'd seen plenty of corpses in their travels, most of them worse than this. Thin cries were convulsing her shoulders now, as she turned her gaze away from the pitiful sight.

Impulsively, Daryl pulled Beth in to his chest and wrapped both arms around her. He didn't understand her tears, but he knew with sudden certainty that he would do anything to push back the misery he saw in her eyes.

His embrace seemed to trigger something in Beth, and the quiet rain of her grief turned into a storm. The tears became ragged sobs, and her tiny body quaked with the power of them. Daryl felt as if he was the only thing tethering her to the spot, as if she would be swept away completely by the deluge if he loosened his grip on her even a little. So he held on, and so did she, clutching fistfuls of his shirt and burying her face against his chest while the tempest raged on.

Minutes passed. Slowly, slowly, the unexpected burst of emotion ebbed away, until quiet reigned once more, broken only by the occasional hitch in Beth's breathing. Embarrassed, she unclenched her fingers and moved as if to pull away, but Daryl didn't release her.

Instead, he looked back over her shoulder at the gravedigger, and the pieces fell into place. Despite the advanced decay of the body—Daryl judged him to have been here several weeks—white hair and whiskers were still visible on the desiccated face. Suspenders hung loosely over the tatters of an old flannel shirt. He saw it now. The quiet farm, the dusty barn… and the ghost of Hershel Greene still haunting his daughter.

* * *

The rest of the day passed quietly. Trying not to think about the poor family in the barn, Beth instead busied herself taking stock of the supplies in the storm cellar. She used the LED light they had found to read labels and set to making an inventory on a legal pad from the desk in the study. It had been months since they'd had more than a candle to hold back the dark; this rechargeable flashlight was a stroke of luck. The crank was noisy, so it wouldn't always be practical to use, but a full charge was good for a couple of hours of light, so she decided she would add it to her pack anyway. Poking around on the lower shelves, she also found a couple of light sleeping bags, a first aid kit, and a radio. The bags were made of some sort of space age fabric; they'd be much lighter to carry than the scavenged bedrolls they were currently using. The battery compartment on the radio, however, had been corroded by leaked battery acid, so it was shot. Beth piled the sleeping bags and the first aid kit by the door and turned her attention to planning out dinner.

_Do you hear yourself? Been eatin' pine nuts and squirrels to stay alive and you're wondering what you're going to fix for dinner._ A snort of amusement escaped her at the thought.

There was so much food on the shelves that Beth almost felt guilty. How many people were still out there, nearly starving, surviving hand to mouth and never knowing where they'd find their next meal? That had been them up until yesterday. This bounty felt too good to be true. Food, a house, even a working well? She shivered, remembering that they'd had the same thought about the funeral home. Was this another trap, ready to spring its jaws shut on the unwary? She shook her head. No, she wouldn't believe that. For one thing, it was out here in the middle of nowhere. What kind of trap would be so hard to get to? And it had obviously sat empty for a long while, passed over somehow by the forces of chaos that had tossed everything else. Still… it felt like more than a coincidence that she and Daryl had stumbled into it just when they most needed a refuge. She thought about her dad, about his faith, and wondered whether there was some unseen force at work here after all.

* * *

Alone, Daryl finished burying the man in the barn. But first he unpinned the sign from his chest. "Ain't nobody's fault, mister," he muttered. "World's just gone to crap." He took off his leather vest, grabbed the shovel from where it lay beside the grave, and started filling in the hole.

As the dirt piled up over the withered body, Daryl marveled at the strength it must have taken for the older man—father, husband—to carve these four holes into the hardpacked floor of the barn. Experimentally, Daryl tried to push the tip of the shovel into an undisturbed section of the ground. It was like trying to force his way through rock. How long did the digger labor here, sweating in the oppressive heat, gouging holes in the ground to swallow up those he had loved most in the world? Daryl could imagine the refrain pounding itself into his brain, echoing over and over with the rhythm of his digging:_ My fault, my fault, my fault…_

Wasn't that the same chant that had kept Daryl company for weeks after the prison fell, pounding with the beat of his endless footsteps, stabbing into his heart with every glimpse of the small, quiet girl whose father had been struck down right in front of her? _My fault, MY fault, _he had chided himself. He was finally part of a family, and he had failed them, failed to protect them. Failed again, like he'd failed so many times before. Why did he think he could do better, could _be_ better? He'd had plenty of time to think about it on the road, plenty of time to whip himself with all the could-haves and should-haves. By the time they'd made it to that rundown cabin in the woods and hunted up the moonshine for Beth's first drink, he was half in the grave himself, bowed low under the weight of self-recrimination and drunk on useless rage. He'd been a powder keg ready to blow, poised to decimate whatever was left of the blonde waif ghosting along at his side.

But she'd surprised him, had raged right back at him and dared him to keep living, to keep fighting. That tiny girl who he'd thought so insubstantial and unsteady had stood in the flames of his anger and burned with him, until all that was left was the two of them, flipping the bird to the charred ruin of the past and moving, somehow, into the future.

He doubted she'd ever know how close he'd come to the abyss. But the moment they had turned their backs to the flames, a wave of some unfamiliar emotion had swept over him, along with the certainty that there was more, much more, to Beth Greene than anyone knew. Even herself.

* * *

Dinner that night was a surreal meal of beef stew and crackers, followed by a passable apple cobbler that Beth had made Dutch oven style over the small burner. They ate it at the table, like people who hadn't been sleeping in the woods two days ago. It was their first hot meal in over a week, and the first one since the CDC that didn't have some sort of wild game in it.

To their relief, the well pump in the barn had functioned just fine after Daryl oiled the cast iron joint and tightened up some fittings. It had taken a little while to draw up water and flush out the pipes, but soon there was plenty, so Beth had taken what she needed to hydrate the dried rations she'd chosen for dinner. After she left the barn, Daryl had filled up a five gallon bucket and dunked his whole head into it before doing his best to clean off the dirt, oil, and sweat that had accumulated over the long day of manual labor. It wasn't perfect, but it had to be an improvement. At least the food would taste better.

"Better" turned out to be an understatement. Daryl had to bite his lip to keep from moaning in pleasure at the long-missed taste of well-seasoned beef. You could hardly tell it had been dried and then reconstituted. He and Beth dipped thick, crunchy crackers into their bowls of stew and wolfed them down, hardly pausing for breath until the pot was almost empty.

When she brought out the cobbler and two spoons, he looked up at her in appreciation, but his mumbled thanks died on his lips at the unsettled look on her face. She passed him a spoon and set down the pan, but didn't join him in tasting the sticky concoction. Every time he glanced at her, she was looking at the table, her eyebrows drawn together as if gathering her thoughts to say something. The cobbler was delicious, but after a few spoonfuls, Daryl found that he couldn't eat any more in the atmosphere of growing awkwardness between them.

As the silence piled up, the memory of that moment of understanding they had shared in the funeral home kitchen last night came suddenly to his mind. It had almost been swallowed up in the blood and chaos that followed, but here, in this quiet kitchen, he found himself wanting to go back to it, wanting to delve deeper into the yet unspoken thing that had sprung up between them.

Thoughts bounced around in his head, looking for words to carry them to freedom, but as so often happened, he found himself unable to give voice to the rising tide of unfamiliar emotions. He suddenly hated that about himself. Maybe because he'd been alone through most of his growing up years, he'd always struggled to connect with other people. Feeling much, he said little. It had never bothered him before, but it was sure bothering him now.

Finally, he drew in a breath to speak, but Beth was there before him.

"I'm not weak," she said softly.

It was so far from the direction his thoughts were traveling that it took him a moment to take in what she'd said. "What?" was all he managed.

Beth tipped her chin up a little defiantly and, in a stronger voice, repeated, "I'm not weak. I don't want you to think… Just because I… because in the barn…"

He interrupted her. "I know you're not. Hell, girl-don't you think I know that by now?"

Beth looked straight into his eyes. Exasperation warred with affection there as he continued, "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met."

He held her gaze, and then tentatively reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. Her slender fingers were beginning to feel familiar to him.

She barely breathed. Her wide eyes were a question mark in her face.

Daryl needed to make her understand. "It's like you said. You ain't like Maggie or Michonne or Carol. They're tough, sure. But you- you got somethin' that's different from them. Somethin' that won't let all this mud and crap and fear beat you down. Somethin' inside you that can still sing even after everything you've seen. Somethin'…" he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at his unprecedented flood of speech. When she didn't respond right away, he pulled his hand away and rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I'm not that good at puttin' things into words."

Beth stood up. Stepping around the table, she grabbed Daryl's hand and pulled him to his feet before launching herself into his arms for a hug, wrapping her arms as far as they would go around his waist and pressing her face into his chest.

"Those words were just exactly the right ones," she whispered into his shirt.

They stood that way, unmoving, for a long while. Daryl's arms came up and found her shoulders, pulling her in closer. As the warmth of her body spread through his, it became blazingly clear to Daryl Dixon that the way he felt about Beth Greene had passed well beyond the realm of friendship.

His hands seemed to move of their own accord, one sliding down to the small of her back while the other rose to cup her cheek. Pulling back a little, she looked inquiringly up at him. For a moment, his eyes searched her face, taking in everything from the flyaway curls of gold at her temple to the faint smear of dirt smudging her jawline. His thumb absently stroked her cheekbone as he fell into those storm blue eyes. Finally, he did the thing he'd been longing to do since the day she'd faced him down and made him really see her for the first time. The day she'd made him want to live again.

He kissed her.


	4. Chapter 4

Beth's mind went blank as Daryl's lips came down on hers. Words flew away like so many birds, and all that was left was the feeling of being right where she was supposed to be, in the arms of this strong and quiet man who had somehow become home to her.

Their first kiss was soft, tentative-a careful exploration of uncharted territory. Daryl's fingers stroked her neck, sending dizzying waves of sensation across her skin. In the back of her mind, Beth worried about her inexperience. She didn't want to be a disappointment in comparison to other women Daryl had known.

She needn't have concerned herself. Daryl's solitary life and diffident nature had not exactly brought the ladies to the yard. He'd had precisely one girlfriend, in the 8th grade, an affair of awkward hand holding and two stolen kisses behind the gym after school. It had lasted less than a week, until word got around to Denise Fletcher's mama that her little girl was slumming with that no-good Dixon trash from the other side of the highway. Mrs. Fletcher had stomped out that barely sprouted relationship with the zeal of an exterminator. It had shaken what feeble confidence he had at fourteen, and truth be told, he'd never really recovered it. The rest of his romantic resume was comprised of useless fantasies and occasional bouts of drunken fumbling in the parking lot of whatever seedy bars he washed up at on Friday nights after cashing his paycheck. Even while they lasted, he knew these encounters for what they were: empty copies of love, the nothing and nowhere flickering of a candle that provided almost no light and even less heat.

Now, though, as he held Beth in his arms, feeling her lips part slightly in response to the pressure of his, it was as if the sun had come out. She folded herself more tightly against his broad chest, and light and warmth like he'd never dreamed of washed over him, overloading his senses. He never wanted to stop. But even as he reveled in it, he knew it had to be some kind of mistake. Grace like this did not fall on men like Daryl Dixon, broken men of mud and mediocrity. The world knew what he was, and so did he. Surely this improbable angel would see into the darkness of him at any moment and fly away.

And she should.

_What am I doing? _The question hit him like a deluge of cold water.

With an effort, Daryl broke off their kiss. His breathing ragged, he slid his hands up to grasp Beth's shoulders and gently pushed her a step or two away from him.

As the cool evening air rushed into the sudden space between them, Beth felt a strange sense of loss. Her eyes sought his. He could already see the questions rising in them. Taking another step back, he said quietly, "Beth." She froze.

"Daryl," she whispered, but he spoke over her.

"This," he gestured at the space between them, "it ain't gonna work, girl."

The hurt was the first thing he saw in her face, and he almost took it all back right then just so he could hold her. Was he ever gonna stop hurting her? Quickly, though, her look of pain was replaced by disbelief, and then defiance. Angry tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to spill over. He watched with admiration as she drew her dignity around herself, balled up her fists, and planted them on her hips. Here again was that spark, that fire that lived inside her, unseen by nearly everyone who knew her. Everyone except him.

"Seems to me it was workin' just fine," she countered, arching an eyebrow.

A wave of longing swept through him. He wanted her. Wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. Not just her body, but her heart. In the unremitting shadow of his lousy life, she was an unexpected flare of light. She drew him like a flame draws a moth. But when he thought of her, all joy and laughter and sweet innocence, he knew she deserved better.

"I'm sorry, Beth. I didn't mean for…" He ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He cast around for an end to his sentence, but no words came to him. "I… gotta go check the fence," he muttered, then turned tail and fled out the back door.

"Don't you DARE apologize to me, Daryl Dixon!" shouted Beth after his retreating back, momentarily forgetting the need to stay quiet. When he didn't answer, she dropped back into her chair and burst into tears.

* * *

He didn't return for most of the night.

Beth was frustrated, but refused to wallow in it. Instead, she played back the memory of their embrace in her head, determined to savor all the details. Daryl Dixon had kissed her! She blushed as she remembered how it had felt standing in the circle of his muscled brown arms, rendered senseless by the soft touch of his lips, the rough warmth of his body against hers. Most of all, she remembered the vulnerability in his expression as he pulled away from her.

It was that vulnerability that made her ache for him now. She knew, with a strange certainty, that despite being larger, stronger, and more capable than she was at many things, Daryl Dixon needed her as much as she needed him. And she didn't plan to let him forget that.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to come back right away, Beth took the dinner dishes out to the barn and rinsed them clean in the trough, silently thanking the Bowman family for the rare gift of cold clean water on demand. It was nice to have a break from the tedious necessity of boiling enough to drink. As they had wandered from place to place, they never had enough water for frivolous things like washing dishes and bathing. On the run, they had used sand to scour clean the battered copper pot and the mismatched plates they had scavenged for eating. It left them dusty but serviceable, and Beth had grown used to having a little dirt with her dinner.

As for bathing, she couldn't remember the last time she'd done more than a quick pits-and-privates splash in the streams they occasionally came across. Any body of water large enough to completely submerge in was a potential hiding place for walkers. The red Georgia clay suspended in the water made it nearly impossible to see beneath the surface; it wasn't worth the risk. She could hardly remember what it felt like to be really, truly clean.

On a whim, and partly to distract herself from thoughts of Daryl pacing the woods around the house, she filled the bucket next to the pump with clean water and carried it up to the house. There was a rubber stopper by the kitchen sink. She stuffed it into the drain and emptied the bucket into the sink before returning to the barn to refill it.

She knew shampoo was too much to hope for, and she was right; the bathrooms were both bare of products. Presumably the family had run out after trips to the store ceased to be a possibility. However, she did find a stoneware crock under the sink that was half full of a slippery paste that she instantly recognized from the strong smell. Her mama had made up batches of soft lye soap every spring. They used it for soaping down the dogs and horses at the farm. When she was old enough, they'd made it together, and Beth had never forgotten the sharp scent of the lye, the way it could burn your nose and make your eyes run before it was mixed with the other ingredients. She could smell the lye in this batch, but it was diluted, and whoever made it had added lavender to give it a nicer scent. It might not be salon quality, but it would do nicely for removing several months' buildup of grime. Beth could hardly wait.

She found towels in a hall closet and brought a stack of them down to the kitchen. It continued to amaze her how organized and well-stocked the house was, its wealth of supplies undisturbed even after weeks of neglect.

Finally, she was ready. Taking a deep breath, she plunged her whole head into the sink and gasped as the cold water touched her neck. Working as quickly as she could, she scooped soft soap out of the crock and lathered up her hair, paying close attention to the dirt and oil on her scalp. Despite the frigid temperature of the well water, it felt amazing to work the dirt out with her nails. When she was done, she used a pot to scoop clean water out of the bucket and rinsed the soap out thoroughly, leaving nothing behind but a faint tingling where the lye had done its work.

Wrapping her hair in a towel, she shivered as a trickle of water made its way down her back. Time to turn her attention to the rest of her body. _Oh, well,_ she thought. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ Stripping out of the filthy jeans and layers of ragged tops that she was wearing was a relief. They were stiff with wear and stained with layers of unspeakable funk picked up through living rough and fighting hard. _Maybe I should wash them, too,_ she mused. _Or burn them._ But the loss of her usual armor made her feel suddenly defenseless. Unbidden, the crude words of the men back at the funeral home echoed in her head and she shuddered, uncomfortably aware of her nakedness. Hurriedly, she clicked the LED light off, taking shelter in the dark. Pausing, she waited uneasily for her eyes to adjust. Outside the kitchen window, the nearly full moon shone in, frosting everything with its cool blue light.

* * *

Frozen in place in the middle of the backyard, Daryl blinked and tried to clear his mind. He _definitely_ shouldn't have seen that.

* * *

When her night vision returned, Beth laid a large towel down on the floor and then stood on it while she lathered up and roughly scrubbed away the crust of dirt that was threatening to become a permanent part of her. She couldn't see very well in the dark, but she imagined the water in the bucket turning brown and gray with grunge. It felt symbolic somehow, as if she was sloughing off some of the despair and horror of life on the road, making way for something new and hopeful.

It didn't occur to Beth until she was standing there dripping, wrapped in a towel, that she could probably find clean clothes in one of the bedrooms. _I guess I should have thought of that before I peeled down to my birthday suit_, she thought, a hysterical giggle rising up in her throat. She traipsed upstairs. Not knowing the ages or sizes of any of the children, she headed for the master bedroom where she'd slept last night. Rifling through the closet and dresser with the dimming LED tucked under her chin, she procured clean underwear (hallelulah!), socks, khaki colored cargo pants, and a black sleeveless button-up made of a thin cotton fabric that made Beth want to weep at its softness. The clothes were a little too big on her. The pants rode slightly low on her hips, but her leather belt kept them from falling down. For a few minutes she just stood there by the bed, soaking in the luxurious feeling of being clean at last. Then she wrapped herself up in the worn grey sweater she found hanging on the back of the door and went downstairs to wait for Daryl.

* * *

A little distance. That was what he needed to find his equilibrium. Taking the first watch again, he had headed out through the back gate and now found himself looking across twenty acres of rolling fields gone to seed. In the moonlight, the softly rippling weeds looked like a glowing blue blanket being shaken out over the hills. A few far off moans carried to him on the breeze, but nothing visible shambled through the tall grass where he could see. He made concentric circles around the homestead. On each pass, he ranged a little farther out, watching and listening with the sharp senses of a practiced tracker, but all was quiet this night. Too quiet, if you asked Daryl.

What he needed now was a little action to push back the unwanted thoughts that were rolling around in his sleep-deprived brain. He was trying not to dwell on what had passed in the kitchen after dinner, and failing miserably. Daryl had learned long ago not to want anything, a lesson drilled into his head first by his mother and then, more painfully, by his father. It had been reinforced by others over the years until it was second nature to him to shut down his dreams when they started, before they grew into things with teeth that could hurt him.

But now there was Beth. He had put up every wall he had, only to see them crash down at her touch. Damn that girl. She made him want things.

* * *

When he finally dragged himself back to the house, it was hours later and the first faint fingers of dawn were glowing faintly in the east. He was shaking with exhaustion. Laying his crossbow against the wall by the door, he took a long drink of water from what was left in the bucket on the kitchen counter. The cool sweetness of it slaked his thirst quickly. He used what was left of it to pour over his sweaty head and into the sink. Running his fingers through his wet hair, he dropped his vest across the back of a chair and went in search of Beth.

He was about to head up the stairs when he saw her out of the corner of his eye, illuminated by watery moonlight. She was curled up in fetal position on the large couch in the living room, her blonde head pillowed on the stuffed arm. Her chest rose and fell with the long, slow breaths of sleep.

Crouching down on his heels next to her, he took the opportunity to look his fill, the way he never would when she was awake. The delicate features of her tranquilly dreaming face suffused Daryl with longing. Not just for her—although that was there, too—but also for the strange peace that she seemed to carry around with her like some impenetrable armor. He couldn't even imagine what that peace would feel like, couldn't remember a time when he wasn't wrestling with life for every meager scrap he could get.

Gently, he reached out and smoothed back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face, tucking it behind her ear. A sweet smell wafted up from her, and the image of her bathing in the kitchen flashed through his mind. She'd changed clothes, too, he noted. It occurred to him that he could do with a bath himself. He probably reeked to high heaven. You didn't think about things like that when you were on the run. With everybody covered in the same stink, you stopped noticing it. Now, though… The thought of Beth wrinkling her nose in distaste at the odor of his sweaty body and unwashed clothes made Daryl squirm uncomfortably. He would clean himself up tomorrow for sure.

Tonight, though, he was spent. As much as he'd like to give Beth another full night's sleep, he was running on fumes. He had to lay down before he fell down.

Putting a hand on Beth's sweater-encased shoulder, he shook her lightly. "Hey, Blondie, wake up. It's your watch."

She groaned, stretched an arm, then curled in on herself once again as if to go back to sleep. He reached out to try again, but before he could, her eyes popped open, and she sat up so swiftly that she almost knocked him over.

"I fell asleep," she said with disappointment, shaking her head a little to clear it.

"I see that."

She rubbed her eyes and yawned groggily. "I wanted to wait up for you. To talk to you." Blinking owlishly, she tried to pull her words together. "I have… um, things to say."

He rose, pulling her up with him. "Well, you can say 'em later. I'm beat." And with that, he flopped down on the couch where her warmth still lingered and turned to face the wall. He hid a smile when she huffed in annoyance, and by the time she'd stomped out to the kitchen, he was already asleep.

* * *

She spent most of her watch hidden quietly in the shadow of the large spreading oak that dominated the large space between the barn and the tool shed. From under its branches, she could see almost the entire clearing at once. Every couple of hours, she walked the whole fence, stopping now and then to examine the sounds of early morning for anything beyond the chirping crickets and birdsong that filled the air.

The day was heating up and it was getting on towards noon when Beth decided she would go for a hunt. It wasn't so much that they needed the meat. With all that food stored, they could eat like kings for a long while without any additional sustenance. But with Daryl's coaching, she had found that she enjoyed the calming rhythms of the woods. She liked the mental exercise of tracking wildlife through the small clues they left behind. A new confidence was growing in her as she learned to observe and interpret the sights and sounds of the wilderness.

Of course, she also loved the look of approval and pride on his face when she brought back a prize.

She shouldered Daryl's crossbow. Being careful to note the direction she took from the homestead, she moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stepping lightly as Daryl had taught her and watching the ground closely for sign. Finally, about a mile in, she saw what she was looking for. Rabbit tracks. There was more than one rabbit, maybe as many as four.

She was so intent on the pursuit that she almost didn't notice the walker until it was nearly on top of her. A large male hurtled at her from behind a stand of trees, and she startled. There was no time to bring the bow up and line up a shot. Just as it launched itself at her, she dropped to her knees and threw her body weight at its ankles, using its own weight to send it crashing to the ground. Quick as lightning, she scrambled on top of it and brought her knife down through its eye socket. Gore erupted from the cavity, and it went still. Panting, she wiped both sides of her blade clean on the walker's tattered rags and slid it into its sheath in a practiced motion.

Sadly, the tussle had torn up the brush and dirt in the immediate vicinity, and Beth knew it would take time to search a wide circle around the spot in order to pick up the trail again. She should probably start moving back in the direction of the house.

She had only taken two steps when a loud rustling noise off to the left of her trail made Beth raise the bow quickly to her shoulder. _Another walker?_ she wondered. She picked up a large stone from the forest floor and threw it in the direction of the sound she'd heard, hoping to flush it out where she could see it. She didn't want to waste bolts shooting at nothing.

But instead of the usual walker moaning, she heard a high pitched whimper as the rock found its mark. The brush rustled again, and out of it limped a dirty brown dog, hair matted with mud, favoring his left rear paw. He slowly moved toward her, his tail wagging weakly.

Beth melted. A dog! How long had it been since she'd seen one? Holding out her hand, palm down, she let the animal sniff her. Cautiously, he came closer, until he was nuzzling his wet nose against her open hand. Delighted, Beth pet him, stroking the dirty fur and scratching behind his ears. His tail thumped on the ground in approval.

"I think he likes you," said a familiar voice.

Beth whirled around to see Daryl leaning casually against a tree, watching the goings-on with a spark of amusement. _So much for my observational skills,_ she thought sardonically as she stood. "I didn't hear you coming. How did you track me, anyway?"

"So much left to learn," he teased, and her heart skipped a beat at the promise in his words. He pushed off the tree and walked over to the dog, who was eyeing him with some trepidation. His wariness quickly vanished, however, when Daryl leaned down and rubbed his neck, murmuring, "Good boy. Yes, that's a good boy. You've had a hard time, haven't you?"

Beth cocked her head in puzzlement. "Why do you say that?"

Daryl looked up at her.

"Because this is the same dog I met back at the funeral home."


	5. Chapter 5

They named him Ash. It was Daryl's little joke, one he had to explain to Beth, who'd never seen the Evil Dead movies.

That first night, he'd eaten nearly his weight in leftover beef stew. Daryl had questioned the wisdom of feeding a dog off of precious stored food, but Beth put her foot down. "He's a survivor, too, same as you and me," she said stubbornly.

The next day, his strength somewhat restored, Ash had returned from a jaunt in the woods with a freshly killed grey squirrel. He dropped it at Daryl's feet and then lay down in the dust of the yard, looking up at him with a big doggy grin. Daryl dropped into a crouch and scratched him affectionately behind the ears. "Tryin' to earn your keep, are ya?" Ash's tail wagged in approval.

Beth walked up just then from the direction of the barn, carrying another bucket of water. "Maybe he wants you to cook it up for him," she suggested, laughing.

But Daryl looked thoughtful. Picking up the offering, he quickly skinned it and cleaned it with a practiced hand, and then carried the carcass into the kitchen.

Beth followed him, setting the bucket down inside the back door. "I was just kiddin', you know."

He raised an eyebrow at her and flicked open his pocketknife. Moving confidently and efficiently, he deboned the squirrel and cut the meat up into chunks. It only took a couple of minutes to sear it in a pan over the small gas burner. Ash haunted the proceedings like a ghost. A hungry one. When it seemed the meat was nearly done, Beth rummaged through the cupboards until she came up with a large salad bowl. She handed it to Daryl, who scooped the chunked squirrel into it and placed it on the floor before the excited dog.

Ash had devoured the meat and was licking the grease out of the bowl by the time Daryl finished cleaning off his blade.

"You were right, Greene. Ash here was lookin' for a personal chef." He flashed one of his rare grins. "I guess we've got the job."

* * *

Ash proved to be a valuable companion in a world filled with walkers. He patrolled the farmyard most of the time, but sometimes went out with Daryl or Beth as they hunted or scouted the area around the property. Not only was he adept at flushing out game and bringing down his own food, but he seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the risks posed by walkers. He never barked, as if he knew that noise would draw danger to them; however, he was skilled at getting his humans' attention in other ways, from nudging them with his nose to thumping the ground with his large paws. More than once, Daryl said a silent thanks to whoever had trained Ash so well before he came to them. Daryl didn't like to dwell too closely on what might have happened to Ash's previous owner. And really, it didn't matter, did it? He was here now, and part of their motley little band of survivors.

With Ash in the house, they no longer felt the need to keep a round-the-clock watch. The dog's sense of hearing and smell were keen, and everything from walkers at the gate to a rabbit coming up under the fence of the compound brought him running to alert them. Though Daryl didn't exactly relish being awoken from sleep to come check out Bugs Bunny, it was a far sight better than having to stay up half the night keeping an eye on things. Ash's vigilance reassured him, and he and Beth were both well-rested for the first time since leaving the prison.

* * *

It was a week later when Daryl finally got up the courage to voice the question he'd been thinking of since they'd first arrived, battered and bruised, at this strange oasis in the wilderness.

The weather was turning cooler, the first faint breaths of fall a whisper on the breeze. They had woken to the promise of a storm, and around midmorning, the looming clouds had delivered on that promise with an echoing display of nature's fury. They spent the day inside, reading books from the library and cleaning and sharpening their weapons. Neither of them talked much, but the silence was a comfortable one, and Beth found herself remembering, wistfully, the quiet evenings her mother and father had spent in similar shared solitude. Warmth washed over her at the comparison.

After dinner, they had dragged the couch over in front of the fireplace and were both leaning back against it, Ash lying comfortably on the floor between them. Beth stroked his furry head affectionately as she gazed into the flames lapping at the firewood. Daryl had cooked tonight—corned beef and canned green beans for the humans, and for the dog, fresh-caught grouse, roasted in the flames of the fire that was currently wrapping its soporific warmth around them all. Full bellies and the sound of rain on the roof cast a spell of contentment over them.

They didn't usually light a fire until well after dark, and never on moonlit nights, wary that the plume of smoke rising from the chimney might give away their location to anyone who might care to look for its source. But the pelting rain was coming down in buckets. The strong wind and glowering clouds obscured the fading light of day and masked all signs from any observers unlucky enough to be out in the deluge.

Daryl reached across Ash and dropped a wrapped candy into Beth's lap. She looked up at him in surprise. "Where did you get this?"

He shrugged. "Found it back in that town where we picked up the canteens." It had been a couple of weeks ago when they had come upon the ransacked army-navy store on one of their supply hunts. A careful search had revealed the canteens tucked into a drawer hidden at the bottom of an empty endcap display. Beth hadn't noticed Daryl picking up anything else, but she had been preoccupied trying to find boots to replace her worn tennis shoes.

"You've had it for that long?"

"Been saving it for a special occasion." Daryl didn't look at her as he focused on unwrapping his own piece of candy and popping it into his mouth. It was a Werther's, and the sweetness of it rendered him temporarily mute as he savored the taste of caramel from a world that no longer existed.

Beth would not be deterred. "What's the occasion?" she asked with curiosity. Thoughts of birthdays and holidays flitted through her mind, but she didn't even know for sure what month it was, let alone what date. Puzzled, she turned toward him and propped her elbow on the couch as she waited to hear his answer.

"This," he said, waving his hand to encompass the fire, the dog, and the whole quiet house sheltering them from the punishing rain. "This place, finding it like this. Sittin' by the fire, pettin' the dog… It's like I could almost forget the way the world's going to shit out there, you know? Bein' here… with you… makes me think things could get better. Someday."

The words had come out haltingly, but Beth could see the effort they had taken. A sudden wave of affection washed over her for the diffident man at her side.

She unwrapped her candy. Ash pushed his nose against her hand curiously, trying to figure out if there was anything interesting in it. Apparently, he didn't care for caramel. He padded off to the kitchen instead to finish the food in his bowl.

Beth closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the heat from the fire and the taste of the first candy she'd eaten in months. She felt comfortable. Drowsy.

The sudden touch of Daryl's hand covering hers shocked her back to wakefulness. What was this? He'd been careful, since their encounter in the kitchen, not to get too close to her physically. It was a constant source of frustration for her. The short kiss they'd shared had awoken her to a truth that had been silently growing inside her over the days and weeks since they fled the prison together: she and Daryl Dixon belonged to each other. That he didn't yet see it didn't worry her, but her longing to touch him, to be near him, to be held in his arms was beginning to drive her to distraction.

The feel of his large hand fumbling for her slender one sent a jolt of electricity up her arm. She raised her eyes to meet his.

"Beth, I've been thinkin'." He paused and looked into her face, as if he wanted to be able to gauge her reaction to his next words. "I know you still want to find Maggie—and the others."

It wasn't what she was expecting, but she nodded.

He squeezed her hand. "And I'm not telling ya to give up on 'em. But... you gotta know that wandering around the state of Georgia hopin' to cross paths with them is pretty much a long shot."

She did know, but it was still discouraging to hear it put so bluntly. Her eyes misted over at the thought of never seeing Maggie again.

Daryl saw her tears welling up and scooted closer to put a comforting arm around her. This uncharacteristic display sent her mind reeling. What was he leading up to?

"Listen," he continued, his voice low and tentative, "what would you think about stayin' here?" When she didn't answer right away, he went on. "We got clean water, we got more food than we can carry with us, and this place is pretty well off the beaten path. I could reinforce the walls some, till up a spot for a garden in the yard, and…"

"Okay," Beth said quietly.

Daryl halted, surprised by her sudden capitulation. He'd been preparing to argue his case for hours; he still had several persuasive points in his arsenal that he hadn't even touched on. Beth's acquiescence had come much more quickly than he'd expected. Maybe too quickly.

Daryl turned her to face him and examined her expression. "Ain't tryin' to push you, y'know. If you got any objections, let's talk about 'em."

Beth's eyes staring up at him were clear and blue, and so full of trust it damn near took his breath away. He could see her jaw set in that familiar way that meant she was gathering her determination. How any of them had ever thought of Beth as weak was hard to fathom now that he knew her better.

"I… I think you're right," she said. "I think we're supposed to stay here."

"What do you mean, 'supposed to'?" he asked.

Beth looked mildly embarrassed. "You'll think it sounds silly," she warned. "It's just—well, look at this place. You were sayin' yourself how perfect it is—food, water, shelter, clothing—all just layin' here two years after the turn, waitin' for us to come by." She tucked an errant curl behind her ear, preempting Daryl, who had been about to do it for her. "And then Ash showing up? How in the world did he find us, Daryl? I can't explain that. It's kinda like that funeral home we found, y'know? Except instead of feelin' like a trap, it feels like somebody's watchin' out for us. Does that… does that make sense?"

In his old life, Daryl would have scoffed at the idea, but now he didn't know. Was it possible that there was someone or something at work that they couldn't see? Hershel, watching over his girl? God?

All he knew was that Beth had agreed to stay. Mentally, he let out the breath he'd been holding. The prospect of moving on from this place of unlooked-for rest had been weighing on him heavily, and he found that he felt lighter knowing that they had, at least temporarily, found "home".

He smiled at Beth. "Yeah, it makes sense." When she smiled back, warmth suffusing her pale complexion, silent alarms went off in his head. He suddenly realized how close they were to each other. He knew he should retreat, but as his glance darted to her lips, he couldn't help but remember how soft and yielding they'd been under his. The urge to reach up and brush his thumb across them was almost overwhelming. Beth wasn't helping. Her face was all open invitation and hope. He wanted to fall in, and keep falling until his last shaky breath.

Closing his eyes against the onslaught, he leaned away, preparing to escape. But Beth's voice brought him up short.

"Why do you always do that?" she asked, a tear of frustration sliding soundlessly down her cheek.

That tear nearly undid him. He reached up with one rough finger and brushed it away. "Do what?"

"Run away. Ever since that night." She looked at the floor. "Am I really that—I mean, if you don't want to…"

A short, barking laugh erupted from Daryl's throat. "Don't _want_ to? Is that what you're worried about?" He swiped a hand distractedly through his hair. "I ain't been able to _stop_ wanting you, Beth."

Whatever pleasure she might have felt at this admission was tempered by the bitter self-condemnation haunting his face when he said it. "It just ain't right, me and you."

Beth huffed in annoyance. "Why? WHY? Would you just tell me that, Daryl Dixon? And don't say it's because of our age difference. That stuff didn't matter before the turn, and it matters even less now!" She tried to reach out to him, but he leaped to his feet, pacing back and forth before the flames like a caged animal.

"Why, Daryl?" she repeated, more softly now.

He turned to her with a face full of misery. "Because Hershel woulda hated it. He always wanted the best for you. And you—" he sighed. "You deserve a hell of a lot better'n me, Beth."

She wanted to shake him, to shout, but instead she rose from the floor and went to stand before him, waiting to speak until he had lifted his eyes to look at her.

"Daryl, my daddy loved you. From the moment you stepped onto our porch back at the farm, he knew somethin' that took the rest of us a while longer to figure out: you are a _good_ man."

Daryl shifted his eyes down and away, but Beth's hand on his stubbled cheek drew his gaze gently, inexorably back to hers, until she could see the little spark of hope that was burning there.

"You're the only man I want, Daryl Dixon. And it's not because of that bow, and it's not because we're alone in the world. If tomorrow everything went back to the way it was, I'd march myself right down to your cabin and bust down the door to get to you."

He cracked a smile at that, imagining the feisty blonde storming into his old shack, looking for him. Beth, sensing a chink in the armor, did the only thing she could think of at that moment. Lacing both hands around Daryl's neck, she threw her weight backwards, unbalancing him and toppling them both onto the couch. Before he could recover, her lips had found his, and whatever vestige remained of his objections melted away in the heat of their second kiss.

It was different this time—slower, deeper. For Daryl, it felt like taking a long, quenching drink after days of stumbling, parched, through the desert. He was no longer fighting himself. Beth's softness, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin were all wrapping a web of intoxication around him more powerful than any he'd ever found at the bottom of a bottle.

He shifted his weight to avoid crushing her, drawing her slender body in close to him while he turned. She was pliable and responsive in his arms, and he had to remind himself to be gentle. When she pulled back to look into his eyes, he drank in the sight of her for several moments before claiming her lips again with a low rumble of desire.

Exultation was singing through Beth's veins as she reveled in the sensation of Daryl's arms around her, his warm breath mingling with hers, her fingers buried in his long hair. She didn't know what she was doing, but she did it with abandon, trusting herself entirely to Daryl's strength and care. Her lips parted at the pressure of his tongue, and her hands ran freely up and down his back, feeling the muscles shifting under the soft flannel of his shirt. She wanted to touch him, so she did, sliding her fingers under the hem to make contact with his rough skin.

It caught him by surprise, sending a wave of electricity coursing through him. For a moment, he hovered on the brink of sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her upstairs. His body and heart ached to lay claim to her, to make her his the way that he was hers, irrevocably. The impulse was strong, but a more measured, rational voice inside of him urged him to slow down, to remember Beth's youth and inexperience.

Groaning inwardly, Daryl pushed himself up to a standing position, pulling Beth up after him. He smoothed away the worried look on her face with a kiss and pulled her into an embrace, holding her until his racing pulse had calmed down a little. It took a few minutes. Finally, though his head still felt like it was full of champagne bubbles, he found that he was thinking a little more clearly. He didn't know how much time this world would give them, but even so, he wasn't going to rush this. He would honor Hershel's faith in him, and live up to the trust Beth gave him so freely.

Releasing her, her bent to pick up his vest and his bow and took a step toward the door. "Why don't you head on up to bed and get some sleep," he suggested. "I got some things to do down here." He gave her a reassuring grin. "Don't worry. I ain't runnin' no more."

The concern on her face faded away, and she smiled back at him. "Better not be," she returned, "because now you know: I will follow you anywhere, Daryl Dixon."

He laughed, a sound she'd rarely heard, and she knew with sudden conviction that she wanted to spend the rest of her life listening to it.

"I'll be back, Greene," he promised, and headed out to the barn. There was a cold bath out there with his name on it.


	6. Chapter 6

"Daryl! Hey, Daryl…wake up!"

At the touch of Beth's hand on his shoulder, it only took a moment for Daryl to shake off the chains of sleep and sit up. She wasn't panicked, but the undertone of worry in her voice was like a splash of cold water, clearing his mind and focusing his vision on the small blonde at his side. "Tell me."

"You have to come see," she insisted, pulling him by the hand over to the window, where early morning light was painting the sky in pale pink and gold.

But the sunrise wasn't the most noticeable part of the view. The vista before them was marred by a wide column of thick, black smoke off to the east. It obscured the sun and rose up in a greasy pillar to dirty the pristine sky, emanating from some unseen source on the ground. Daryl judged it to be about eight or nine miles away from where they stood watching.

He understood Beth's concern. The year had been a little dryer than normal, and it wasn't hard to imagine how easily a wayward lick of flame could start an inferno in the neglected stands of pine trees blanketing the area surrounding their hideaway. There was also the question of who had started it—and why. From the look of things, the smoke was rising from one fixed location, suggesting that it was a localized burn of some sort rather than a forest fire. But who would start a fire so large? And would they be coming this way next?

As he silently chewed the problem over in his thoughts, Beth stepped closer and leaned against him, waiting patiently for him to speak. Tentatively, he slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her more tightly to his side. It had been a week since they had acknowledged the changing nature of their relationship, but the easy way Beth showed her affection still often caught him off guard with its sweetness. He'd never been the object of anyone's genuine pleasure before. To his brother, he'd been a nuisance. To his mother, a burden. To his father, a scapegoat. But the delight that shone out of Beth's eyes when he was with her was slowly and steadily eclipsing those narratives with a new one. He was the man who loved Beth Green. And in the greatest reversal life had ever thrown at him, she somehow loved him, too.

"Maybe I should get a closer look," he said after a few minutes. "If I go in on foot, I can slip in without bein' seen and find out what's goin' on."

"That's a good idea," Beth nodded. "Ash and I can come along and watch your back."

Daryl opened his mouth to object, but closed it again as he remembered how easily their group had gotten separated after the escape from the prison. If they were in danger, whether from fire or foes, their best chance was to stay together. "Okay, trouble. You can come. But we need to get our packs loaded just in case something happens and we can't come back here for a while."

Beth started for the door, but before she could take a second step, Daryl caught her wrist and pulled her into a hug.

"Good morning," he mumbled into her hair, planting a soft kiss on her temple and inhaling the sweet smell of her skin before finally releasing her to her task. She smiled over her shoulder at him as she left the room, and he did his best to push down the sudden fear that gripped his heart as he thought of leading her back out into the walker-infested darkness.

It was nearly noon when they finally shouldered their packs, secured the gate behind them, and set out walking toward the smoke that was still steadily streaming into the sky. Daryl was thankful for Ash trotting along beside them. As if he knew the danger they were in, the dog's usual playfulness had given way to the wary watchfulness he always displayed when they went outside of the fence.

It was Ash who sensed the presence of the first walker they encountered before it was even close enough for Daryl or Beth to see. His hackles raised, his low growl was quiet, but loud enough to alert Beth, who tugged on Daryl's sleeve and pointed silently in the direction that Ash was looking. Daryl raised his crossbow.

Nothing moved for several seconds, but then a fresh-looking female walker in the tattered remnants of a Ramones t-shirt stumbled out of the trees and made a beeline right for them. Though she was gnashing her teeth, she wasn't reaching out for them, and it wasn't until she went down with Daryl's bolt through her eye that Beth saw that her hands were handcuffed behind her. At the sight of the cuffs, Beth's memory of the "cops" who had tried to take her came rushing back, and she shuddered. Who cuffed this girl? Were there others out there from the same twisted group, hunting down survivors? Before she could voice any of her thoughts aloud, Daryl's hand reached out for hers and squeezed it gently. Looking into his eyes, she saw that the memory of that encounter was also haunting him. They didn't speak of it, perhaps feeling that it was better to say nothing than to cover it with meaningless reassurances of a safety that could never be guaranteed.

Instead, Beth returned Daryl's squeeze, lacing her fingers through his for a moment before releasing him and turning away to take point as they crossed the field, Ash sniffing along at her side.

Due to their cautious pace and frequent stops to take down walkers or navigate around obstacles, the sun was low in the sky as they drew nearer to their destination. They had left the fields behind and were slowly working their way through woods dense with underbrush. Soon it would be too dark to see the smoke or to pick out a safe path over the dead leaves and past the tangled branches. They weren't going to solve the mystery tonight. It was time to find a place to hole up until morning. Daryl's eyes swept the woods as they walked, squinting into the fading light. Beth assumed he was looking for something with four walls, so when they passed up a flimsy shed without checking it out, she was puzzled, but she held her peace. Finally, Daryl stopped her with a hand on her arm and pointed up into the forest canopy. "There."

She couldn't tell what she was seeing at first, but as they got closer, she could make out a small platform suspended high up in the crook of a strong tree. There were short pieces of lumber nailed to the trunk beneath it to form a ladder.

"What is it? A treehouse?" Beth asked. She came from farmers, not hunters, so Daryl had to explain to her what a deer blind was.

"So you just sit up there and shoot at things?" she teased, a smirk playing across her lips. "That doesn't sound very sportsmanlike. Those poor deer probably never even see it coming."

"Well, let's hope it lets _us_ see what's coming," he said with a wry grin, and she instantly sobered. Sliding her machete into the sheath hanging from her belt, she gripped one of the rungs and started climbing. Daryl followed after her.

Standing on the platform, Beth thought it seemed even smaller than when she'd been looking at it from down on the ground. "What should we do with our bags?" she asked as Daryl heaved his body up onto the stand. There was a single rail made of two by fours running around the perimeter of the platform. Daryl secured his bag and Beth's to it with a short piece of rope and hung them down over the side. They held on to their weapons.

"You okay down there, Ash?" Beth said quietly, peering down at the ground. The dog looked up at her, wagging his tail. Fishing around in his pack, Daryl located a wrapped piece of dried venison. He pulled off the paper and tossed the chunk down to Ash, who promptly picked it up in his teeth and retreated to the safety of the concealing shadows under a nearby juniper bush.

"I guess that takes care of Ash," Daryl chuckled. "Are you gettin' hungry?"

"I could eat," she said, scooting closer to him until her knee was pressed against his. She peered into his pack. "What's for dinner, Mr. Dixon?"

They both slept that night, trusting in their hidden position and the presence of Ash on the ground below to keep them safe from unwelcome surprises. The tiny platform was just long enough for Daryl to stretch out, but barely wide enough for two, so they slept curled together like two spoons. Not that Beth minded.

Sleeping outside again felt at once familiar and strange after weeks in a real bed. Beth lay still, Daryl's warmth coiled around her, and watched the stars winking at her through the shifting leaves above and around them. The small noises of the forest filled the silence: crickets softly chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze, the branches of the tree creaking a little as it swayed. They washed over her and lulled her, and she felt the tension seep out of her muscles for the first time all day. Just as she was on the cusp of sleep, Daryl's low voice spoke from the darkness behind her.

"Beth, you asleep?"

"Not yet," she whispered.

There was a moment of silence in which Beth wondered if that was all he was going to say, but then he continued, sounding so uncertain and worried that she longed to turn over and look into his eyes. Unfortunately, there was no room for that kind of maneuver, so all she could do was slip her hand into his where he had draped his arm over her to hold her close.

"Listen, Beth, I don't know what we're gonna find tomorrow. I don't know if we're walkin' into a trap or if we'll get mowed down by a random herd of walkers."

Beth opened her mouth to speak, but he preempted her.

"I know you're gonna say that we never know whether we'll have tomorrow. Believe me, I heard it the last few times you said it."

She smiled in amusement. She could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"What's that phrase people used to use before? Gettin' their affairs in order? Well, if somethin' happens to me, I want to make sure you know the important things."

_What is he talking about?_ wondered Beth. _He already trained me on the crossbow, and I'm nearly as good as he is at finding shelter and killing walkers._

Daryl's arm tightened across her midsection, and he must have leaned in closer, because she suddenly felt his warm breath brushing against her ear. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

"I love you, Beth Green," Daryl whispered.

Tears welled up in Beth's eyes and slid down the side of her face into her hair.

Daryl went on, "I ain't never said that before. Not to anybody. And even though it's probably obvious how I feel about you, I… I just wanted to make sure you knew. That's all."

Beth pulled Daryl's hand up to her face and pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles. "Me too," she said, smiling into the night sky. Then, as an afterthought, "And nothin' better happen to you, do you hear me, Daryl Dixon?"

Daryl chuckled quietly and pulled Beth's hair out of the way so he could touch his lips to the back of her neck. She hummed in pleasure.

"You're lucky there's not much room to move around up here," he teased, resuming his position as the big spoon and pulling the blanket up over both of them.

Within minutes, they were both asleep.

* * *

Beth woke to the startling sensation of a hand pressed over her mouth. Before she could react, Daryl's familiar whisper breathed into her ear. "Don't. Move."

She froze, her eyes flicking around wildly as she tried to locate the source of the danger. The palest streaks of dawn were starting to show through the leaves, but the forest was still deeply shadowed. The sound of footsteps rustling across the forest floor below made her blood run cold. Then she heard the voices.

"When we find them, nobody touches the sheriff. He's mine," came a growl from not very far away. "I owe him for this." The voice was tight with rage.

_Sheriff? Could it be…? _

Daryl must have had the same thought, because she felt his body go tense behind her.

The sound of hocking and spitting was followed by another voice, this one with the thickest southern drawl Beth had ever heard. "Wahl, I want a few minutes with the purty one. She had some fight in 'er, she and that man o' hers." He laughed darkly. "Didja see how mad that chink got when I pushed her into the boxcar? Maybe I'll make him watch."

Beth had to squeeze her lips tight against a gasp. _Are they talking about Maggie?_ Her stomach flipped over at the casual way the man spoke of his horrific plans.

"Now, you know we don't play with our food, Randall," the first voice chided.

Randall grunted. "Jus' seems a waste is all. Ain't that many good lookin' women left in the world now. 'Sides, wouldn't damage the meat none."

Beth felt her gorge rise at the implications of what she was hearing. Just when she thought mankind had reached its lowest ebb, the living kept proving her wrong. She grasped Daryl's hand tightly and felt his answering squeeze of comfort.

The sound of footsteps slowly passed by their hiding place and receded into the forest. When the light of dawn had grown golden and they could no longer hear anything but the sounds of the forest around them, Daryl sat up, pulling Beth up beside him. She turned to face him, and for a long moment, they just stared into each other's haunted eyes.

She was the first to speak.

"Do you think…?" she started.

"Yeah. I do," Daryl replied to her unfinished question. "It's gotta be them."

The hope of seeing her sister again flared within her. "Daryl, we have to find them! We have to find them before—"

"We will," he said firmly, "but we have to be smart about it. Those men are dangerous. And I counted seven of them."

"How did you do that?" Beth asked in astonishment.

Daryl pointed to his ear with a smirk. "I ain't taught you everything I know yet."

Beth grinned, but refused to be sidetracked from the mission at hand. "What do we need to do? How will we find the others? We have to go now!" Every beat of her heart filled her with urgency now that they had a lead on their people.

"First we have to do some pokin' around and find out what we can about who we're up against. Let's go check out that smoke."

He untied their packs, then climbed down so he could catch them when Beth dropped them. Soon they were geared up and ready to go again. Ash bounded out of the woods and fell into step beside them.

"Good boy," Daryl said warmly, bending to scratch him behind the ears. "Ash here heard our visitors before I did and woke me up with a bark or two before he took off for deeper cover." He reached into the side pocket of his pack and pulled out a piece of beef jerky for the dog. "You sure are a smart one, aren't ya?"

Beth stood back and watched them, thankfulness welling up inside of her. She couldn't say why, but she just knew that they were going to find their people and get them back safe. She said a silent prayer, shouldered her pack, and bumped Daryl's hip with hers.

"Saddle up, cowboy. Let's do this."


	7. Chapter 7

Beth dropped her pack onto the dusty ground and fell to her knees beside a stand of poplar trees, retching into the bushes. Daryl felt a little queasy himself, but he kept watch on the surrounding hillside as Beth brought up the remains of her breakfast. She kept going until her heaves subsided into sobs, then rocked back into a sitting position, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head buried in her arms.

Despite the truth implied in the conversation they'd overheard in the forest, neither of them had been prepared for what they'd found down in the burning remains of what had clearly been a large scale compound. Daryl shuddered thinking of the room with the butcher tables and meat hooks, where undeniably human remains were processed and stored like slabs of beef. Almost worse were the rooms filled with backpacks, weapons, clothing, and, chillingly, even a few toys. There was enough gear to supply an army. How long had these people, these savages, been luring survivors into their trap? And how many of their family had managed to escape?

Daryl hadn't wanted to look too closely at the bodies scattered around the compound, but he made himself check every face they came across, praying not to see one he recognized.

Once the horde milling around the destroyed buildings caught sight of them, they had fled for the safety of the trees.

One thing was certain. Daryl and Beth couldn't underestimate their adversaries. They would have to be careful. The monsters who had done this thing were capable of anything. At some point between survival and predation, they had found themselves on the raggedy edge of sanity—and jumped off.

* * *

They struck out immediately in pursuit of Rick and the others, aware that their quarry had a head start of several hours. A new sense of urgency pushed them both to go faster than usual, aware that their people might not realize they were still in danger. Neither of them wasted energy in talk as the minutes pooled into hours and the sun made its steady climb into the sky and down the other side. Beth hung back a dozen yards or so as they walked, Ash padding along at her side, so that Daryl could concentrate on tracking the men they were following. Not that they made it difficult. In most places, the broken branches and trampled leaves were hard to miss. The only time they had to slow down was when the path took them across a tumbled field of broken shale that had clearly washed down from the roadbed above during a hard rain. It wasn't immediately apparent whether the Terminus group had crossed the road directly or continued parallel to it, so Beth sat down in the shade to rest while Daryl moved in a careful grid pattern, looking for a sign.

Opening her canteen, Beth took a long drink of warmish water. They had filled three bottles each from the pump back at the barn, enough for a couple of days, but she knew that if they went much further, they would need to find a stream or pond where they could refill. She wrinkled her nose in distaste remembering some of the brackish water they'd had to boil for drinking while they were out in the wilds. It was amazing how quickly she'd grown accustomed to once again having clear, cold drinking water available. She felt a sudden pang of longing to be back at their hidden farmhouse, wrapped up in a warm quilt and sharing dinner with Daryl rather than chasing sociopathic cannibals across the dusty Georgia countryside. The thought passed as quickly as it came, though, when she thought of Maggie and Glenn and Rick, still out there, hopefully, and maybe needing their help. The desire to find them filled her with resolve. She wasn't going back without the rest of her family.

Daryl was still working his way along the edge of the road, so Beth took the opportunity to slip into the brush and empty her bladder. Ash came with her. She kept a careful watch for stray walkers as she squatted near a scrubby pine and peed. She was just zipping up her jeans when Ash lifted his head in alarm. A very low growl, almost silent, rose up in his throat, and she instantly went into a defensive posture, unsheathing her knife from where it hung at her waist. Slowly, she crept in the direction she had come from, her eyes scanning for movement as she eased around a large tree at the edge of the shale field.

A man she didn't recognize was standing there, no more than ten feet away, his back to her. Frantically, she looked for Daryl. There he was, on the ground, trying to push himself to his knees. He seemed to wobble as he moved, and Beth had to bite her lip to keep from gasping when she saw blood running down from a cut near his eye. The man hulking over him was holding a stained machete in one hand and had his other hand tucked casually into the bib of his straining overalls, as if he was at a summer cookout, waiting for the burgers to be done. He outweighed Daryl by at least eighty pounds. He had the unmistakable air of one of the rowdies that used to hang out drinking night after night at the Hog Trough back in Senoia before the turn. Beth knew the type. Daryl had already been disarmed somehow. His crossbow lay on the ground behind him, and a bruise was slowly forming across his jaw, but he had made it to his knees, hands raised in a conciliatory gesture. Fortunately, the Hog's back was to Beth, so he didn't see her peeking out from behind the trunk of the towering pine where she was hiding. But Daryl did. Alarm made him clench his jaw slightly, but he focused on the thug, trying hard not to glance at her and give her away.

"We figgered somebody might circle around to follow us," the Hog was saying, "so I stayed behind to take care of it." Beth could imagine the cold cruelty in his eyes, the look of sinister glee that always seemed to animate monsters like this one, even before the walkers appeared. He continued, "See, I was in the slaughter house back in Terminus when yer sheriff pal was brung in. One look in his eyes, and I knew he weren't the kind to just run off without tryin' to get his own back again." He chuckled darkly. "Don't tell me yer the only one he sent? He is an overconfident little cuss, ain't he? Well, don't worry. We'll catch up to him, too." The big man swiped his greasy hair back from his eyes with hands crusted with filth.

Daryl's eyes blazed with hostility. The Hog didn't like it. "Still think yer gettin' out of this don'tcha? I seen guys with attitudes like yours. They all beg in the end. Course, it's a little hard to understand them after I've busted out their teeth." He hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it into the dirt next to Daryl's knee with a grin. "They usually have to stop me so I don't ruin the meat, but it's just me out here this time. And I'm gonna enjoy this."

The man raised the machete he was holding and advanced on Daryl.

Beth's heart raced with panic. Concern for Daryl overrode everything else in her mind, and she stepped quietly out from behind the tree. Daryl saw her and gave a tiny shake of his head. _No. _But she was past listening. In three running steps, she had leapt onto the Hog's back and locked her left arm around his neck. After that, she just concentrated on holding on. He bucked in surprise when he felt her lock her knees against his rib cage. It was like riding an unbroken horse back at the farm. The Hog spun around, trying to snare one of Beth's legs with his heavily muscled arms.

Daryl jumped to his feet and raced toward her, but met one of the assailant's meaty fists instead, and was knocked to the ground. Anger flooded through Beth, and before she could think twice, she had used her right hand to plunge the length of her blade into the side of the Hog's meaty neck. As if someone had pulled a plug, he dropped heavily to his knees and fell over on his side, trapping one of Beth's legs beneath his bulk. She winced as she felt the rocks digging into her flesh. She pulled her knife free, and a spray of arterial blood caught her in the shoulder, soaking through her blouse. Blood bubbled from the Hog's lips as he let out a final gasp and then stilled for the last time. Daryl ran over and lifted the dead man's bulk so Beth could pull her leg out from under him.

"You okay?" he asked her, his voice full of fear for her, and then in the same breath, "What did ya think you were doin'? Tryin' to get yourself killed?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her into his arms and held her so tightly she couldn't speak.

After an interminable time, Beth pulled back and ran her hands over Daryl's back and sides, then over his chest and down his arms, checking for blood. There wasn't any. She gave him a quavery smile, and then burst into tears.

Gently he pulled her back into his embrace, letting the tears come. "I killed him," she whispered, when her sobs had died down.

"It's okay, Beth. You don't gotta feel guilty. That guy was one of the monsters."

She glanced up at him, a strange fever in her eyes. "That ain't why I'm cryin', Daryl."

He looked at her, puzzled.

"I'm cryin' because… because I _don't_ feel bad." Her glance hardened as she looked around him at the still body lying on the ground. "I don't feel guilty at all. I would do it again. He was gonna kill you."

"I know," he said, stroking her hair. "I know." He retrieved her pack and helped her shrug the shoulder straps back on, ignoring the grisly blood now coloring a good portion of her shirt. "You keep ridin' to my rescue like that and I might forget which one of us is the fair maiden and which one is the knight in shinin' armor."

She chuckled at his joke and bumped him with her hip. "Sexist ass."


	8. Chapter 8

They moved more slowly after that, taking extra care to stop every few minutes to listen to the sounds of the forest, eyes and ears tuned to catch anything that didn't belong. Ash was surprisingly at ease, dashing off now and then in pursuit of a rustle in the bushes only to return panting, tail wagging. Strangely, they hadn't seen a walker for hours. The afternoon sun beat down on the canopy overhead, but it was at least ten degrees cooler in the shade beneath it. Still, Beth could feel sweat trickling down the nape of her neck and her cleavage, pooling at her waistband and in the middle of her back where her pack rested. She was thirsty, but she only let herself take a small swig from her canteen as she walked, wanting to conserve it.

Daryl continued tracking, but the trail was getting a little more difficult to read. In several places, he lost it completely and was forced to backtrack to pick it up again. As late afternoon drew on toward evening, he finally called a halt.

"What do ya think?" he asked Beth. "You notice anything?"

She grinned. _Back to lessons, are we?_ She pointed to the ground ahead. "Well, they came through here, for sure. See that pebble that's been forced into the mud there? And the bent weeds between these two trees? But it looks like they might be traveling single file now. Bein' more careful."

He nodded at her, satisfied. "I'm thinkin' they got their dander up when their buddy didn't come back from doggin' the trail." He swiped an arm across his forehead and looked off into the woods, then up at the sky, where the light of day was dwindling away. He pointed away from the trail to the east, where the forest ran for several hundred yards before climbing a small hill. "I have a pretty good idea of where we are. If I'm right, State Road 20 should be a little over that rise there. There's a small crick just the other side of it where we can get some water. I don't wanna blunder into these guys in the dark, so I think we should hunker down over there till morning."

Beth nodded and took another drink from her canteen. She wasn't tired yet, but she could see the wisdom of getting off the trail for the night. Whenever they did meet up with the monsters they were tracking, it would be best to have all their wits about them. Shouldering her pack once again, she jerked her chin in the direction he had indicated. "I'll be right on your heels."

* * *

They set up a simple camp in the lee of a large overturned tree. The desiccated roots thrust sideways like a tangle of wooden fingers that had been torn from the soil as the tree fell. The wide trunk sheltered them from the sight of anyone passing by on the road several yards away, and gave them something to lean their backs against as they shared an unexciting dinner of MREs and iodine-treated creek water.

After they'd eaten, Beth checked the wound on Daryl's head where the Hog had coldcocked him. It was clotting well, so she just cleaned it up a bit and replaced the wide bandage with another from their first aid kit. Daryl didn't meet her eyes while she did it. In the last light of day, she could just barely see the blush creeping over his stubbled cheeks. Leaning a friendly shoulder into Daryl's, her voice turned teasing. "So, I've been wondering something. How did that big guy get the drop on you back there? The Daryl Dixon I know woulda heard him comin' a mile away."

Daryl grunted, looked down at the ground, and mumbled something inaudible.

"What was that?" she persisted, sure now that this was a story she wanted to hear.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, the pink in his face becoming more pronounced the more agitated he got. He spoke a little louder. "I said I was… picking some flowers."

Beth stared. Daryl raised his eyes to meet hers. The corner of her mouth twitched. She pressed her lips together. Soon her shoulders were shaking silently. Then she couldn't hold it in anymore. A chuckle escaped. Then another. Soon she was holding her stomach and throwing her head back in real, honest laughter.

"Shhh!" Daryl hissed at her in alarm, looking around them. She clapped both hands over her mouth, nearly vibrating with the effort to get control of herself. This was not the time or place for the giggles. But the more she tried to silence them, the more impossible it became. All the tension, all the emotion of the day poured out of her in wild bursts. Her abdomen started to ache and she was having trouble catching her breath. She removed her hands, but continued to gasp helplessly, like a highly entertained fish flopping on the shore. Even through her laughter, her eyes widened at Daryl in a silent plea for help.

He did the only thing he could think of. Cupping the back of her head with one hand, he pulled her closer with the other and covered her mouth with his in a desperate kiss.

It worked. The moment Daryl's lips made contact, Beth's giggles dried up as if they'd been turned off at the tap. After one frozen second, she threw herself enthusiastically into the kiss. When she was forced to draw back with a gasp to take in some much needed oxygen, Daryl simply moved his attentions to her neck, sweeping her blonde locks aside to graze across the sensitive skin there. She hummed in pleasure, and reached up to slip her fingers through the long hair at the back of his neck, guiding him back up to meet her lips once more.

Finally, with a wry chuckle, he pulled away. "Not that I don't wanna see where this goes, but don't ya think at least one of us should be watchin' for walkers?"

Beth rolled her eyes, but grinned back at him as she tried to catch her breath. "Fine. No more shenanigans until we're safely behind walls, then." She unzipped her pack and removed the perimeter line she'd packed, then headed off to hang the alarms. "Sure hope you don't regret it," she tossed playfully over her shoulder as she went.

Daryl raised an amused eyebrow at her retreating back. "We'll see, girl," he said with a smirk.

* * *

They rose at dawn the next day and struck camp with practiced efficiency. Beth's leg was bruised and sore, but she worked the stiffness out as they walked. Soon they had picked up the trail of the cannibals again. The marks of their quarry's passage ran parallel to the road and just out of sight of it. Thanks to a night of rest and the straightness of the path, they made good time, but by noon, heavy clouds had gathered above them, and the far off rumble of thunder warned of an impending summer storm. That would make tracking more difficult, Daryl knew. He picked up his pace.

They encountered walkers twice in the morning, small groups of three and five that they easily put down between the two of them.

They decided not to stop for lunch, instead gnawing on jerky and dried fruit from their packs as they traveled. A few scattered drops of rain tattooed the forest canopy above them, and Beth pulled out a ragged blue and red ball cap, shoving it down over her braids and positioning the visor to keep rain out of her eyes.

"Braves fan, are ya?" Daryl asked, dropping back to tweak the brim of the hat. "Cute."

Beth playfully swatted his hand away. "Get your own, Dixon. It's about to be a gullywasher, and this one's mine."

Before he could retort, two things happened.

A hoarse cry of fear sounded through the trees to their left. And the sky opened up. Water poured down as if from a bucket.

Ash darted off toward the sound they had heard. Silently, Daryl grabbed Beth's hand and ran after him, grasping his loaded crossbow tightly to his body. Visibility was low, but Ash kept turning around to make sure they were behind him, his eyes imploring them to hurry, hurry.

Thirty yards later, they emerged onto the road and found the source of the terrified shrieks. The stink and sound of walkers had been obscured by the pounding rain, so they were surprised to see a group of nearly a dozen closing in on an unfortunate black man in dark clothing and a clerical collar.

The man was unarmed save for a branch that had likely been pulled from a tree during his flight from pursuit. It was a woefully inadequate defense. His eyes rolled in terror as he took a feeble swipe at the fiend closest to him, a lumbering giant clad in rotting coveralls. The walker batted the stick aside almost by accident and continued to advance. It was nearly upon the man when its forehead suddenly bloomed with the pointy end of one of Daryl's crossbow bolts and it collapsed to the ground, dead for the second time.

Daryl and Beth waded into the fray, hacking and slashing at the walkers, drawing some of them away from the gasping priest. Beth thrust her blade up through the nape of a monster just before it grasped Daryl's crossbow, then pulled the knife free as the beast fell so she could whirl around and plunge it into the empty eye socket of another that had shambled up behind her. She felt a third monster tugging at her jacket, but the pale, scabby hand fell away a second later, cleaved from its wrist by Daryl, who followed up with a dagger to the temple.

Together they dispatched one walker after another, cutting them down with brutal skill, dodging grasping hands and gnashing jaws, until a terrible human cry of pain split the air. Daryl knocked down the walker he was battling and crushed its skull under his boot before looking around to find Beth. She was pulling back the scalp of another creature to slide her knife home under its jaw. Relief washed through him. Then he saw the priest.

In his haste to scramble away from the walkers, the man had slipped on the gravel at the shoulder of the road and fallen backward onto the ground. The creature pursuing him had followed him down and somehow made it past the priest's frantic kicking to sink its jaws into the muscle of his thigh. As it tore away a chunk of his flesh, the priest screamed again, and his eyes rolled as if he would pass out. Daryl lifted his crossbow and put a bolt through the walker's head. It collapsed on top of its gasping victim.

Daryl retrieved his ammunition and rolled the walker off of the man. Beth knelt at the priest's side and took his hand, a look of sadness in her eyes when she realized they were too late to save him. Fresh arterial blood leaked steadily from the wound in his leg, and she said a silent prayer of thanks that his death would not be a long time coming.

The man's eyes fluttered open, and Beth laid a comforting hand on his forehead. "Tell..." he gasped, his breath ragged, "Please..."

She looked into his face, pity suffusing her gaze. "You're going to be all right," she lied.

He took a shaky breath and tried again. "Tell Rick..."

At the sound of Rick's name, Daryl's head snapped around from where he'd been keeping watch on their surroundings. He dropped to his knees and peered closely at the priest's face. "You know Rick? Rick Grimes? Were you with him? Where is he? Tell us!"

Beth laid a gentle hand on Daryl's arm.

The man struggled to draw each breath. "Tell Rick... I'm sorry." His face sagged, and his breathing grew fainter.

Beth squeezed his hand and gave him the only gift she could. Softly, quietly, she sang the familiar words that her father had taught her at his knee so many years ago. "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me..."

* * *

They didn't have time to bury the man, who had never even told them his name, but when he was gone, Daryl slid a compassionate blade into his brain stem to stop him turning.

Together, they shouldered their packs and walked on. Without even discussing it, they turned away from tracking the cannibals to follow the trail of the doomed priest back to wherever he had come from, both of them hoping against hope that the Rick he had mentioned in his last words would be the one they were searching for.


	9. Chapter 9

xxxxx

* * *

The signs of the man's passing were so easy to follow that a child could have done it. Broken branches and obvious footprints in the loamy forest floor might as well have been road signs pointing the way.

At every step, Beth fought down the urge to run. _Don't get your hopes up,_ she reminded herself, but it was futile. In her mind, she was already envisioning the reunion. Was her sister still alive? Who else had made it out when the prison was overrun? Carl? Baby Judith?

Daryl was thinking, too, although with less optimism than Beth. _Probably ain't even them. Rick's a common enough name._ But the long haired man picked up his pace anyway, carefully watching the woods around them for signs of trouble.

Ash seemed to sense their agitation. He stayed close to Daryl, lowering his head to sniff the ground every few steps and glancing back at both of them to make sure his pack was intact.

They had gone less than a mile when they saw the building peeking through the trees a hundred yards ahead. Worn, whitewashed clapboards were peeling in the golden twilight, and a single spire rose above the greenery. No one was visible outside. With Daryl leading the way, they made a wide circle around what was clearly an old church house, scanning their surroundings for clues to what they would find inside. Several times they crossed footprints and broken branches, all indications that whoever had been coming and going from this place hadn't been particularly concerned with masking their movements. All was quiet, both at the tiny church and in the forest all around them. The last light of sunset fled quickly from the sky while they made their circuit, and shadows pooled and merged across the leaf-carpeted ground.

As they curved back to where they had started, Beth made a soft clicking sound to draw Daryl's attention, then pointed to a tree off to her right. There was a mark carved on the trunk, an X with a circle around it. Daryl shrugged. The mark seemed fresh, the exposed wood still white in the rough gouges. Who had made it and what it meant were mysteries. Perhaps it was someone's bread crumb, part of a map for moving around the countryside. Beth made a mental note to watch for other marks. They moved stealthily forward a dozen more yards and then dropped into a crouch behind a low-growing bush to observe. The silence stretched out, unbroken, as the day's last light fled from the sky.

Daryl hated to go into any new situation blind, but he was starting to doubt that there was anyone in the small wooden building after all. "What do you think, boy? You smell anything?" he whispered to Ash, but when he turned to look, the dog wasn't there. The canine was doubtless doing his own investigating. He glanced over at Beth. Her head was cocked to the side, as if listening intently, and her focus was trained on a dense copse of pines close to the front steps of the church. Just as he was about to ask her what she heard, a series of liquid shadows separated from the darkness beneath the pines and darted toward the double doors in silence. One, two, three, four, five, six - there were half a dozen men, and they arranged themselves in a semicircle around the doors.

The moonlight spilling down into the clearing revealed flashes of the weapons they carried: long knives, a couple of machetes, and at least one rifle. As the man with the gun turned his head to signal to the rest, Daryl recognized him as one of the thugs that had almost stumbled across them as they slept the morning before last. He nodded to Beth.

As they converged on the front steps, Beth fought the urge to call out a warning. These were the monsters they'd been tracking, and she and Daryl shared the slim hope that their friends were nearby, maybe even within those wooden walls. But a shout would only draw the attention of the attackers and eliminate their one advantage, the element of surprise.

Daryl's face showed the same conflicted thoughts. Finally, he took a chance. Pursing his lips, he emitted a perfect imitation of a meadowlark.

_Brilliant_, thought Beth. It was the signal Rick's group had always used to warn of nearby danger or to signal for attention without calling out and bringing walkers down on their heads. At night, the lark's distinctive daytime call stood out among those of nocturnal birds. Their daytime signal was a nightingale. She doubted the cannibals would know the difference, but if it really was Rick and company inside the little church, it was as good as a phone call.

As she'd expected, none of the cannibals looked around, not even when Daryl's "lark" called a second time. Instead, the leader counted silently to three and then he and the bulky man beside him both rammed their shoulders into the heavy timber of the door. With a splintering sound, the doorframe busted apart, freeing the deadbolt holding it closed. The whole group of cannibals spilled into the darkness beyond, leaving the churchyard empty.

The shouts of alarm Daryl and Beth expected never came. They could hear the leader's sing-song voice, taunting and wheedling, as if trying to flush out his prey, but nothing else. Daryl had just about decided the place was empty after all. He was turning to signal to Beth when he heard a familiar voice that stopped him in his tracks.

"Y'all just made a bigger mistake than your last one," the voice drawled, and Beth's eyes lit up with recognition. She could picture the owner of that voice, his beard rough, his hands clenched around a weapon, and his steely blue eyes flashing dangerously.

Moving as one, she and Daryl crept up to flank the broken front door, trusting in the shadows to hide their movements.

The blast of a shotgun broke the stalemate, and a body flew backwards through the opening so fast that Beth nearly fell off the porch in surprise. It was the tub of lard who had helped break down the door. One look at his shredded face made it clear that he would not be getting up again. Suddenly the air was full of grunts and crashes, battle cries, gunshots, and screams of pain.

Beth and Daryl rushed in to find that all of the cannibals had been dispatched except the leader. He was standing in a ray of moonlight, a smirk on his face, as he and Rick-Rick!-faced each other over the barrels of their guns. A stand-off.

Daryl stepped out of the darkness. In one smooth motion, he brought the barrel of his own pistol up behind the cannibal and pressed it against his head, just behind his ear. "Drop it," he growled.

Beth heard gasps and whispers from around the room, but she couldn't see anyone. She held her breath, waiting for the man to do as Daryl had commanded. Finally, he moved as if to lower his gun. Beth relaxed her shoulders, but too soon. At the last second, like a lightning strike, the cannibal dropped into a crouch and swept Rick's legs out from under him, then rolled onto his back and swiveled to point his gun at Daryl instead. Rick fell hard, cracking his head against a pew, and lay still.

"I knew someone was following us," the man snarled at Daryl. His finger crept toward the trigger, but before he could pull it, a fur-covered missile flew out of nowhere and clamped its jaws over his wrist, causing him to drop the rifle.

A gurgling cry escaped the gunman's throat as he scrabbled at Ash's muzzle, trying to push him off. His efforts only caused the dog to tighten his grip. Daryl attempted to line up his pistol for the shot but hesitated, afraid of hitting Ash in the struggle.

A metallic scraping sound was followed by the swish of a machete blade, and the man's throat bloomed with a jagged red line, blood welling out of it in a torrent. He fell over, and Ash sprang away.

Rick stepped into the watery light. His forehead sported a large knot above his left eye. He addressed the dying man. "I made you a promise." He tossed the soiled machete down on his twitching body and stood there while the flow of blood from his throat slowed and stopped.

Beth fell to her knees in relief and gathered the squirming dog into her embrace. "Good dog, Ash!" she laughed through her tears, "Good boy!" She felt Daryl's arms wrap around them both.

Somewhere in the dark edges of the room, a match flared to life. Soon candles and a lantern flooded the sanctuary with flickering light. At last, Beth raised her head from Daryl's shoulder and searched the small crowd peering down at them. She was suddenly afraid, not ready to put her hope to the test. Afraid to ask, to find out that her sister, her only family-

"BETH!"

Maggie slammed into the trio from the side, sending Ash running for a less alarming place to recover. Daryl stood up awkwardly, leaving the sisters to their reunion. They hugged each other briefly, fiercely, both of them laughing through a wash of tears.

Maggie pulled back slightly to stare into Beth's dirt-stained face, as if she were afraid to take her eyes off of the younger woman. "Bethy…" she whispered, choking back a sob, "I thought… we looked for you…"

"I know that," Beth soothed her, giving Maggie's shoulder a squeeze. "We weren't sure if y'all had made it, either. I never stopped hoping, though."

As Daryl watched from a few feet away, a strong hand gripped his shoulder, and he spun around to find a heavily bearded Rick grinning at him.

"I knew you were out there somewhere!" He pulled Daryl into a bear hug, pounding him on the back so enthusiastically that Daryl fully expected to find bruises later.

"Wouldn'ta made it at all if it hadn't been for her," Daryl admitted, with a nod toward Beth.

A look of surprise briefly flashed across Rick's face and then was gone without comment. "I missed you, brother," he said simply.

Daryl swallowed past a sudden tightness in his throat. "Me too."

When Maggie finally let go of Beth, others moved in to take her place, hugging and staring and clasping hands with Beth and Daryl, as if they were two ghosts come back to life. In a way, Beth mused, that's exactly what they were. She was relieved to see most of their friends had survived the fall of the prison, including baby Judith, who seemed to remember her just fine, judging from the way she held out her chubby baby arms to Beth. She wrapped the warm, wiggly girl in her arms and marveled at the miracle of holding her again. Only Sasha held back from the love-in, her grim expression and solemn greeting hinting at a recent tragedy.

There were new people, too. Beth tried to hold on to names as Rick introduced them, but most of them swirled away in the river of her rushing thoughts.

Tyreese and someone named Abraham carted the still warm bodies of the cannibals out into the night while Glenn made quick work of warming several large cans of beef vegetable soup from a crate in the corner. In no time, the smell of food curled through the air, drawing everyone into a loose circle on the floor of the nave. A serious young woman with dark eyes and a green army hat stood watch outside the doors.

Over their meal, Rick filled them in on what had happened to the group since escaping the prison, with the others chiming in here and there with details. It turned out they'd all been split up at the beginning, too, in pairs and trios, each small band on their own and not sure who else had survived. It made for quite a story, and though Rick was clearly skimming over some of the more gruesome details, Beth was glad she wasn't there for the encounter with the murderous Claimers or the terrifying walk through that pitch black railroad tunnel with Glenn. The specter of Terminus was still so fresh in her mind that when Rick described the grisly execution of Sam on the killing floor, she found herself trembling with pity and revulsion.

Almost without thought, Daryl, who was sitting next to Beth, reached over to comfort her. As he entwined his fingers with hers, he glanced up and found Maggie looking at them, her eyes narrowed in speculation. As much as he wanted to look away, he forced himself to meet her gaze. After a long moment, she finally blinked, and returned her attention to Rick. _I'm sure she'll have a few words for me later,_ he thought wryly. Somehow, with Beth's warm knee pressing against his and their hands curled securely together, he couldn't find the will to worry about it.

"There's one other person you ain't met yet," Rick was saying, "and to be honest, I'm not sure if you'll get to. Father Gabriel bugged outta here in the middle of the night last night. He's… well, he's an odd one. Not quite sure what to think of him yet."

Beth looked at Daryl.

Daryl cleared his throat. "He ain't a tall black guy that wears a preacher collar, is he?" At Rick's nod, he sighed. "Don't think you'll be seein' him again. We crossed paths with him a mile or so from here. He'd been set on by a small herd, and we were too late to save him."

A murmur of sympathy and something else Daryl couldn't quite place passed through the circle. Whatever the man's story had been, it didn't seem to be a happy one. A silence fell over the group. The sound of crickets rose on the air, as if in eulogy for the man who had inadvertently brought Daryl and Beth back to the people they loved.

"That's enough about us," Rick said, finally. "What happened to y'all? Have you been together since the prison? Did you find anybody else?"

Daryl glanced at the young woman beside him. The hour had grown late, and Beth's eyelids were beginning to droop. "That's a long story," he said, his mouth tilting up in an affectionate half smile. "Think we could tell it in the morning?"

Maggie snorted; whether in amusement or some other reaction, Daryl couldn't tell. Rick just raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose we could, at that," he drawled. "We've got some decisions to make, too. There's more for us to talk about. Might as well get some rest while we still have these four walls."

The circle broke up, and one by one, people moved off to find a place to stretch out. The pews seemed to be popular. Daryl found Beth's bag and brought it over to her. Without a word, she yawned and laid her head down on it. Daryl covered her with the sweater she'd taken off during dinner and then made his way to the front steps. The GI Jane was still out there.

"I'll take the watch for a while, if you want," Daryl offered. "I ain't ready for sleep yet."

The tough-looking brunette leveled him with an appraising look and, with a hint of approval in her expression, dipped her chin in the affirmative. "Yeah, all right. Thanks." She offered a hand. "I'm Rosita."

"Daryl."

Rosita nodded and ducked back into the white clapboard building.

Cocking his crossbow and resting it on the handrail, Daryl leaned against the doorpost and looked out into the forest, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the quiet, broken only by the low scrapes and rustles of the group settling down for the night. He was happy to be back with Rick and the others, but he had to admit that a very small part of him wished he and Beth were alone back on the homestead, talking over dinner in front of the fireplace.

Instead, here they were, reunited with their family after months apart. It was amazing. He couldn't believe they'd found them. What were the chances? Maybe Beth was right about that higher power looking out for them. It was starting to sound as plausible as anything else.

He let his mind drift over the memory of the night before the smoke, the night he'd finally let himself admit that he had fallen in love with Beth Green. What would happen now? How would the others react? "Screw it," he muttered, "I don't care what they think about it." And it was true. The old Daryl might have run from it, but now that he knew her, loved her, nothing was going to keep him from Beth's side. In fact, when his watch was over, he was going to march right over to where she was sleeping and lay down with his arms around her the way he was aching to. Might as well show everybody how things stood.

The sound of the church door opening behind him jerked him from his thoughts. He looked to see who could still be awake at this hour.

Of course it was her.

"Can we talk?" Maggie asked.

Why did walkers never attack when you really needed them to?

* * *

xxxxx


End file.
